Reprisals tentative title
by J.A. Carlton
Summary: The voice that had haunted her existence whispered into her ear as the life fled from her eyes, I don't need you anymore... I've got a new playmate...
1. Chapter 1

(Tentative title) Reprisals – SN fic

Chapter 1

By J.A. Carlton

aka sifichick

Disclaimer: shrug Why not?

Love: I hate repeating myself but… for love I'll do anything.

--

Darkness fell to the periphery of Carol Guinardi's vision as something heavy and solid careened into the right side of her face, her vision turned red as she groped through the shattered bits of her life on the floor, trying to reach the phone. She was almost there, her finger brushed the plastic housing just as some huge, horrible agony raged into her belly. Fortune was with her as she flew across the living room and into the wall., she was able to grasp the phone and dial 911 before the world stopped making sense.

She head pounding on the door and thought for a moment it was in her head, then she heard the voice and knew there would be questions. There were always questions, but this time the lies would serve a different purpose.

_Please don't go away…_ she thought as the image of EMT's as some mad trick or treaters knocking on the door then running away flickered through her mind in the way of a B-rated horror movie.

"Pl… please…" she whispered as voices came to her just before the door burst open and the swirling tornado of household items dropped to the floor.

The first two EMT's to enter the house couldn't believe their eyes. IT was as if someone had thrown a switch when they entered and the possessions dropped through the air to clatter and shatter on the floor.

"What the hell?" one of them asked. The other shrugged and once the movement stopped, to their credit they dismissed their disbelief and moved through the rubble as Carol Guinardi clawed her way toward them.

"Oh man…" they breathed as the details of the scene made themselves clear.

They approached warily wondering if whoever had done this to the woman before them might still be around, then they began to tend her.

--

"…so I don't get it, an invisible attacker or some kind of poltergeist which is it?" Dean asked as they headed toward their next assignment.

"I don't know… maybe both, either? What I don't get is…" Sam stopped abruptly and shook his head.

"What you don't get is what?" Dean asked.

Over the last few months he seemed to have become more focused. He found himself more often than ever before tired and not necessarily frightened but more careful, less reckless, maybe even in some ways less enthusiastic.

Big Bad was no where to be found and after an intense six week regimen to regain his strength Dad was on the hunt yet again, chasing down those signs, sending them coordinates when he thought his boys could be helpful.

He smiled just a tiny bit thinking about Laura, the last time he'd seen her was at Bobby's. That kiss, then later that night. In the morning, as she'd told him she would be, she was gone.

"You know I love you Dean… I don't know when of if we'll ever see each other again," she'd said softly while stroking his chest and his hand balled into a fist in her hair.

"What do you mean?" he'd asked feeling his throat tighten around the question. He knew the answer, and he wanted anyone but him to be the one to give it voice, so he left it to the one he knew was stronger than he.

He'd felt her smile against his skin and reveled in her touch as she cupped his face and said, "You now as well as I do, you and me… we're not meant to have what we need, not in this life anyway…"

"Do you… you don't think…" he'd started to ask but his darned throat wouldn't loosen up, and it wasn't tight in the same way it was when they kissed either.

"Dean don't torture us…" she'd shaken her head and pressed her lips to his draping her leg over his hips, "We have this. This moment, this… haven in time… take it, appreciate it… let yourself have it…"

"How can you sound so…" he started to ask and angled her head back so he could delve into her eyes. He'd needed to see if she was yanking his chain or if she really believed what she was telling him. To his surprise, he saw her belief.

"People like us, we've seen and done so much. We've lost so much…" her voice cracked and he remembered Morgan.

"Laura, I have to ask you something…" he said softly, stroking her hair and neck. His eyes closed against the pain he knew he was going to feel when he got the answer he knew was coming.

"Dean…"

"Laura…"

"There's something for us. For people like us… it maybe doesn't make up for all the sacrifices but… but it's something that helps dull the pain… and there's the whole 'next life issue' and quantum physics and energy can't really be created or destroyed then the universe being pseudo sentient…" she babbled quickly, trying to stop him from making her think about it.

HE felt her voice trembling, her body shaking against his and her fingers wrapping hard into his skin trying to dig, to escape the memory.

He wrapped her tight in his arms, his breath shaking as he sighed it out, and he felt her fight for control over her emotions.

"I'm sorry… shhhh, it's okay… I'm sorry…" he pulled her deep into him, his eyes tearing as her body communicated her conflict in a way he understood perfectly.

He felt her nod, felt her lips brush over his chest and her breath hitch as she choked it out, "I cut his throat…" she stopped, her breath holding solid in her body as her pain washed over them both. Dean pulled her hard to him, his eyes glassing with hers as she finally came to face what she'd had t do almost four months ago.

Inside himself Dean shuddered wondering if he'd ever be able to make the sacrifice she had or what circumstances could bring him to do what she'd done, and he knew in whatever situation that could arise, he'd never be able to live with himself. Between the two of them he wondered how long she'd manage to survive before remorse brought her back to her brother.

HE sighed and felt his lips turn up at the corners remembering how he'd gentled away her pain that night and in so doing had helped himself start down his own path to recovery.

"Dean!" Sam's voice set his right ear ringing.

"What? Man… you ever hear of a daydream?" he growled more startled than anything else.

"Have you heard anything I said?" Sam asked, his eyes lit with an odd smile.

"Uhm… after 'what I don't get is…'… not a word," he admitted.

"Where the hell did you go man?" Sam asked amused and genuinely curious. Dean had been different lately, almost as if he were more than he'd been before. Fuller, richer, just more… Dean. To his chagrin, his older brother smiled, and not one of his usual, 'wouldn't you like to know' types but… Sam shook his head, whatever was happening with his big brother didn't feel like a bad thing at all.

"I said… what I don't get is why… if this thing, whatever it is that's tormenting this girl… why hasn't it killed her yet…"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked curious.

"I mean this is the third time this year she's been hospitalized like this, and according to the unofficial reports I could get my hands on, she's been seen in the ER for several other types of attacks… they even thought she was doing it to herself for the attention for a while…"

"What like that Baron Munchausen's thing?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, "Munchausen's Syndrome yeah, but they've kinda ruled that out." 

"Oh yeah? How?"

"Couple of the EMT's this last time swear they saw 'something that defies explanation'."

"Really? Well that definitely puts it in the running for 'our kind of gig'… what's her condition?" Dean asked feeling squirrelly in his belly as his blood started to heat up and he wondered what she was into. Was she like Meg? Trying to control forces beyond her control? Was she dabbling in curse-worthy stuff? Was it Big Bad related or just an average malevolent haunting? And most importantly, if she was just another innocent, what could she have possibly done to merit such a terrible series of assaults?

"Stable," Sam said while checking the map in his hand, "Left up ahead on Riverfront then right onto Sycamore," he looked at his brother and saw his jaw clench, "What?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, "Just wondering why the same woman, is it the house? Did she dabble where she shouldn't have? I mean she lives alone right? No husband? No kids?"

"Right."

"So… just wondering what we're dealing with."

--

"One things' for sure… whatever it is we're dealing with… it's seriously pissed…" Dean breathed as they entered the house through the patio door and closed it behind them while the devastation soaked in.

"Wow," Sam breathed.

"I thought Meredith's place was bad…" Dean shook his head. He knew that the myriad shards of debris, pieces of a life accumulated made it look worse, but even subtracting it from the equation and looking at the pits in the walls, the blood spatters and streaks, the pure savagery of the attack could not be mistaken.

"Wow…" Dean echoed turning on the EMF meter and nodding when it started squealing immediately as they moved out of the kitchen and into the front room.

"Oh man… look at that…" Sam pointed to the wall where halfway up to the ceiling a Torchiere style lamp hung from a hole in the drywall.

"Musta been some party," Dean breathed disbelieving, "Alright Sammy you take the bedrooms, I'll start over there," he indicated back toward the kitchen and the garage entrance there.

Sam nodded, "Be careful."

"I'm not the psychic wonder here… you be careful," Dean admonished moving back into the kitchen while Sam went to the far end of the house. Dean stood at the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room and cocked his head to the side, an interesting mosaic of kitchen knives embedded to their hilts in the wall made him smirk. His lip curled up remembering his own recent encounter with a cutlery obsessed, malevolence when they'd gone back to Lawrence and their old house to help Jenny and her kids.

He jumped startled when a deep rumbling vibration shook the walls of the house and was followed by the crystalline sound of something deadly shattering. His heart in his throat he turned on his heel and hollered, "Sammy!"


	2. Chapter 2

Reprisals chapter 2

"Sammy!" Dean called careening out of the kitchen and into the hallway where he collided with his younger brother who turned him around and shoved him toward the front door in front of himself.

"Go… go…" Sam urged pushing hard against the wall that was Dean.

"What? What is it?" Dean demanded over his shoulder.

"Pissed… really pissed…" he insisted pushing Dean out the door and down the front walk to the sidewalk where they stood breathless, waiting to see if it could or would follow them.

At the motel Sam took off his jacket as Dean hit the bathroom. He'd been sure to keep Dean in front of him, or keep himself facing his older brother once they were back in the car but it hadn't done much good. He was going to have to ask for help anyway.

_Damnit! I can't even escape a pissed off poltergeist without frakkin' that up too!_ He stepped outside with his jacket in hand and shook it out, amazed and mystified by the sound and volume of crystal slivers that fell to the ground. They looked so delicate, as if they shouldn't have been able to penetrate the layers of heavy cotton but he was going to have to get his hands on some duct tape to make sure he got them all out of the tight denim style weave, he might even have to count the hoodie as a casualty entirely. He held the jacket with the hoodie inside of it up to the bright afternoon sky and shook his head again. It looked as if he'd been peppered with buckshot. _Man am I gonna ache later…_

Shaking his head he leaned back and started at the scalp, working his fingers through his hair, feeling like he was running his hand over a boar-bristle brush until he felt wetness. _Wonder if gloves would help_, he thought shaking out as much as he dared, unwilling to risk getting crystal fragments into his eyes or anything.

"Sam?" Dean called from deep in the room.

Sam bowed his head and kicked the door open so Dean would know he was alright, "Out here…"

"What're you doing?" Dean asked holding the door open and looking at his little brothers' red coated right hand while his left plucked at invisible some-things in his skin.

"What did you do?" Dean demanded angrily and grasped Sam's hand and pulling him into the room. "What happened? What did you do?" he repeated.

Sam shook his head.

"The…whatever it is?" Dean asked shining the light of a gooseneck lamp onto his hand and picking out the visible shards.

"Yeah…I think it's a poltergeist… they're usually more malevolent and this one..." Sam shook his head watching his brother go to work.

"Yeah this one's got a monopoly on malevolence…" he said focusing on the task at hand for another moment before looking up into Sam's big ole puppy dog eyes. "Damnit Sam you're supposed to let me know if you're hurt!"

"Yeah well…" he sighed and shrugged then froze holding back a visible wince.

"What else?" Dean asked cocking his head to the side expectantly.

Sam shook his head but Dean's Spocked eyebrow forced him to see the futility of trying to hold back anything else, "A few shards got through my jacket…"

Dean let go of Sam's hand and rose looking his brother in the eyes, "Don't touch…" then moved around to his back. He sighed and hung his head, "Lean forward…"

Sam did as he was told and forced himself to keep still as Dean pulled his bloody t-shirt away from the skin of his back, hopefully removing a few shards in the process, then slid it over his head and carefully off. Dean moved gingerly, taking the t-shirt into the bathroom where he shed it in the sink, unwilling to leave bits of glass on the floor for them to step on if he could help it.

"Son of a bitch…" he hissed standing behind Sam, "Damnit Sammy! This kind of macho crap isn't you! What's wrong with you!"

"What?" Sam asked just as he started to feel something dripping into the waistband of his jeans, "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough…" Dean growled and returned to the bathroom where a second later water was running.

Sam's brows furrowed and he looked into the eyes of his reflection in the mirror above the dresser on the far left side of the room, next to the door. He twisted, trying to get a look and felt his jaw drop. His back looked like someone had poured a pan of red paint down it. Mesmerized by the sight he pushed back in the chair and was almost off the seat when Dean poked his head out of the bathroom and motioned him back down with a harsh admonishment.

"Sit!"

"Arf," Sam mocked still craning to see the damage done. _That's not possible… it was just a few shards… _he thought then heard a reply from his own mind, _well no doubt here it was genuine crystal… I wonder how bad it really is…_

"I'll get what I can out with tweezers but what would really help is some Elmer's glue…" Dean called emerging from the bathroom, "I'll tell you something else Eisenstein… I am not picking any glass out of your ass you got that?"

"Good to know…" Sam nodded slowly and felt Dean roll a towel into the waistband of his jeans before setting to work. "What's the glue for?" he asked as Dean meticulously plucked nearly invisible slivers from his brother with more patience than anyone who didn't know him would have guessed he possessed.

"Grabs out slivers after it dries…. hopefully it'll work on crystal too…"

Later, amid several bloody towels Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hair was soaked and Sam's back looked like hamburger as he leaned on the table, head resting on his forearms, fully unable to believe how many slivers his brother had already pulled from him with still another quarter of his back to go.

"I'm guessing we'll probably be visiting Miss Guinardi in the morning," Dean sighed evenly. He couldn't blame Sam for this, and he really didn't, but he was angry for the delay. This thing was just plain mean and he wanted it done! _That's one more time I didn't protect him…I let him down again… if he'd taken the kitchen he would'a been safe and I'd be the one with a back full of crystal shards… God one of these things could work its way through him into his kidney or something, slice up his body from the inside so he bleeds to death or has a heart attack or something crazy like that… could it really do something like that? _he wondered and determined it didn't matter. His job was to protect Sam and once more he'd failed.

He stopped picking for a moment as another voice made itself heard in his head, _He was protecting you Dean… he'll be fine… accept that he wants to spare you more pain… give him the chance to be what he can be, for you, for John… for himself. Let him… be. _He knew that voice and he knew her advice was good and valid, but he'd been Sam's protector for so long, he didn't know how to let him fall, how to let him be wounded in service to someone else, _That's my job!_ he thought but shook it all away for the task at hand. The idea would take time for him to get used to.

About three hours later, just as MST3K was starting its own particular take on the movie classic The Blob (original version) on some local b-movie channel Dean pronounced Sammy as clean as he was going to get this night. Once he'd finished picking out the visible shards Dean had run across the street to the Circle K and bought a couple bottles of glue and a paint brush, then a pair of heavy cotton gardening gloves he'd used to wash Sam's hair out in the tub while the glue dried. He'd peeled off the layer of glue, noting an impossible amount of crystal embedded into it and wrapped the pieces into yet another towel he'd have to throw away.

He sat on the bed, Sam in front of him, fresh out of the shower in his sweats, and dabbed triple antibiotic ointment onto the bazillion cuts in his younger siblings' back and shoulders while they both laughed at the stranded human and his robots as they commented on the movie classic. It was one form of entertainment they could always agree upon.

While they sat there chuckling at the same jokes in the same movie Sam's mind flew back in time and he flushed with affection. He remembered a time when he was about nine or ten-ish and Dad had been off on another hunt, leaving Dean to fend for them both again, a situation like the Shtriga, but in this case, they were in Arkansas and Sam actually remembered it. He remembered it because he'd been in the same school for almost three months and he'd blown the bell curve for everyone in the class. Consequently they hated him. He never knew how or who nor did he really want to, but someone had managed to rig up his desk so that when he opened it he was squirted with the musk gland of a skunk. He remembered pounding the three guys he'd just known had been responsible for it until they'd cried for their mothers, then when all was said and done, he'd cried for Dean who came and rescued him.

Dean had spent hours bathing him in tomato sauce, brown sugar and baking soda until the stink was barely noticeable, and he'd conned a nice waitress at the local truck stop into writing a note to excuse Sam from school for the next week. Sam had been grateful at the time but now, sitting on the edge of yet another motel room bed, in yet another town in which they would never settle Sam felt a strange sensation in his guts. The skunk incident had happened not too long after he and Dad had been felled by a terrible fever that had kind of wasted them both away. Sam remembered Caleb, Bobby and Shep working hard to get them all to eat and "regain their strength". He wasn't sure but he thought there might have been something unusual that happened to Dean during that time too. All Sam could remember was Dean in his dreams sending him strength, helping him feel brave.

"What?" Dean asked noticing that Sam had just gone somewhere very very far away.

Sam shook his head, "Nothing…." he sighed stepping back from his reverie, seeing in his mind's eye Dean with a broken finger and looking positively terrible. That was a hard summer for them all, but for some reason Sam could remember all the grown ups being real curious about Dean for a while. Then Dean had stormed at them, told them to leave him alone, that everything was fine… and they had, but they'd still worried.

"You're a crap ass liar Sam, what?" Dean asked.

Sam smirked, and turned ready to pull his t-shirt over his head, he knew how to get Dean to drop something, "I was just thinking… You know I love you right?"

"Oh man! shut it! I am NOT hugging you! You got frakkin' triple-x all over your back I ain't touchin' you!" Dean shook his head wiping his hands on one of the two small towels left just as MST3K cut to a commercial so he could go wash his hands.

_Heh heh… gotcha._ Sam smirked to himself pulling his t-shirt down, he swilled a couple quick mouthfuls of Dean's pint o'Whiskey then lay on his stomach on his own bed, beer in hand so he could watch the rest of the show.

In the morning they would find out everything they could about Carol Guinardi and whatever it was that wanted her tormented beyond reason. No matter what each of them thought the other might think… this had become personal.


	3. Chapter 3

Reprisals chpt 3

Nodding at the nurse at the reception desk Sam and Dean headed to the bank of elevators, their first stop of a new day. Secretly Dean was glad they were starting out easy, Sam was moving stiffly which was to be expected after pulling a good five pounds of crystal out of his skin. He'd said the lamp base was about twelve inches tall and about seven or eight in diameter and it looked to be about eighty years old. They both knew it was real crystal for certain. Dean's forearms and hands were pretty cut up themselves and neither of them felt particularly up for any detailed charades despite the suits they were wearing.

Dean motioned to a door on the left side of the hallway and Sam knocked lightly before entering the room. The woman in the bed looked at them as if she was looking right through them.

"Miss Guinardi?" Sam asked using his Sharing and Caring voice.

She nodded and brought her awareness to them, "Yes."

"Hi… I'm Sam Rodgers this is my partner Dean Taylor… we're with Metro Mutual…"

"We realize this isn't the best time Miss Guinardi… but in cases like yours…"

"Really? You've had other cases like mine? I'd like to hear about them…" she sniped even though her voice was lethargic. There was something in her demeanor that struck the boys as, 'wrong' for her situation.

"I'm sorry ma'am… I didn't mean to…" Dean shook his head and stopped as her eyes welled with tears.

"Lemme guess you're going to cancel my policy right?" she nodded as if she knew it was so.

"Well that has yet to be determined Miss Guinardi… we do however need to ask you a few questions…" Sam responded sharing an important glance at his brother.

Her hand flipped in a 'whatever' gesture as she sighed tiredly, "I'll tell you the same thing I told the doctors, the police and the shrinks," she shook her head, "Honestly I'm surprised but then again… those nice EMT's…" she leaned back cautiously, like someone who was accustomed to living with pain and knew all too well how to avoid it.

"Miss Guinardi, we're aware that you've said you didn't see your attacker…" Dean started, "And that your statement has been corroborated by the EMT's who arrived first on the scene, but we'd like to know… is there anyone in your life, in your past who might want to cause you to come to harm?"

She shook her head gently, "Not that I know of…" she closed her eyes, for the first time since they'd walked in, not looking at either of them.

Sam and Dean noticed and exchanged a quick glance before Sam asked, "How long have you lived at this location?"

"Three years."

"Any odd smells, unusual leaks, pests?" Dean asked and wondered why he was bothering with the standard questions, Sammy's back was all the evidence they needed that there was something evil and angry in that house. What he really wanted to know was why.

She shook her head and doing one of the things Dean did best, he listened to his instincts and closed the door then pulled the chair up to her bedside where he motioned a pale little brother to rest while he sat on the arm.

"Miss Guinardi… let's cut the crap huh?" he motioned to Sam, "My partner and I were at your property yesterday… we… well he was attacked, like you… and like you…he didn't see his attacker. Now I know you don't know us from Adam but I'm going to ask you some questions that are so far off the record they'll never find their way into any documents… I don't like it when someone attacks my partner… makes me a little angry if you get my meaning… so he's going to put his little notebook away and we're going to talk about things that normal people don't talk about… you understand what I'm saying?" Dean asked, his voice was choppy and stilted and Sam knew he'd be the one to get whatever information they got from this woman.

_Damn man… he's so good at reading people! I'll never be that good! _Sam thought and though he wanted to lean back and rest a bit the end on end rubbing of exposed and sliced topical nerves in his back forbade him.

"I…" she started, taken completely aback by his demeanor, "I don't…." she shook her head and took one look at that cocked eyebrow of his that said in no uncertain terms, 'try to lie to me', then she sighed. "It's been stalking me for about sixteen months now…"

"What's been stalking you?" Sam asked wincing as Dean dropped a hand onto his shoulder without thinking.

"Sorry…" Dean muttered grimacing for his brother as their attention turned to the human patchwork before them.

"If there's any chance you guys are recording any of this I won't say a thing…." she said softly.

"Ma'am… if we tried to submit any recording of any of this to our superiors we'd be committed…" Dean smiled nodding sarcastically.

It seemed to be just what she needed to hear as she began to spin her story.

"…it…he…" she shook her head, "…it sees blood and it laughs… it sees a tear and it laughs… a whimper… gloats… I lost my child two years ago…chalked it up to a miscarriage… blunt trauma after a hard fall…" she huffed sarcastically, "…no stairs in the house… I never fell… HE… IT… whatever…" she flopped and for the first time in the last forty five minutes broke eye contact with both of them, turning her head to the side and staring out the window, "go away," she shook her head seeming to snuggle down deep under the covers. They knew they'd been dismissed and honestly, both of them felt dirty and angry and impotent. Sam ripped a piece of paper from his little spiral notebook and laid it on her nightstand.

"If there's anything else Miss Guinardi… please don't hesitate to call either of us…" he said softly, his hand gingerly touching her shoulder.

"What can you do?" she asked defeated and refused to look at either of them.

"We can listen…" Sam said softly and touched her hand gently but she snatched it away and rolled onto her side.

Dean put the chair back where it belonged and with their moods dark and ominous, a complete contrast to the pristine day outside, they left Carol Guinardi in her hospital room.


	4. Chapter 4

Reprisals chpt 4

Sammy's deep voice slid into his ears, pushed hard by the urgency behind the call, "Dean!"

_Just a sec Sammy… I'll be right there…_he thought slowly and really tried to communicate the idea to his baby brother, but then the world went away.

Sam looked around as he pressed his fingers to Dean's throat and felt the strong pulse there, "Thank God," he huffed as a heavy University style dictionary launched off the floor and at his head.

He clasped his hands around the enormous tome, jerked with everything he had and cast it aside, apparently out of the grip of the malicious spirit. So far it hadn't 'shown' itself with any kind of corporeal visage but its temper and cruelty were unmistakable. That it hovered around mocking with laughter, occasionally wafting whatever it could at them was really starting to grate on Sam's nerves. He also realized that Carol Guinardi had been right, this thing's existence was bent on nothing but torment.

He opened the journal again and began to read once more. It was obvious it didn't like the idea of someone trying to exorcise it since when he'd first started reading was when it grabbed Dean and flung him like a rag doll at the painfully solid door jamb before throwing him at Sam like a bale of hay, hoping to take him down that way.

Sam read, his grip on Latin growing stronger with every exorcism they tried and though he was almost certain the attack was slowing he still couldn't be quite sure, it could be a trick.

His eyes scanned the bedroom looking for some sign, anything to indicate where this thing was going to attack from as he heard Dean's voice in the back of his head, _…the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer…_ only then the inmates had been trying to warn them about Dr. Ellicott and his freaky fringe therapy, this time they were up against the spirit itself. What killed him was that they still didn't know who this spirit had been or why it had latched onto Carol, was she just some innocent circumstantial victim... Why Carol Guinardi? There were no indications so far that she was into any dark aspects of Witchcraft, nothing to indicate that she was anything other than an arbitrary victim. What they had discovered was that this thing had been tormenting her since she was thirteen years old.

The deeper they'd dug into her alias's the longer they realized this had gone on and the angrier Dean had gotten. He wasn't the type to stand by and watch someone be hurt and he couldn't understand why no one else had really tried to help her.

They were able to dig up her juvenile medical records, back when she was still Karen Adams from Oklahoma, and with each new finding Dean had grown more incensed. There weren't many bones in her body that hadn't been broken or fractured at some time including most of her vertebrae and despite her insistence that there was something outside herself that was responsible for hurting her, no one had believed or gone very far into investigating the possibility. They'd sent her to counseling, they'd had the Church come in and evaluate the situation to see if an exorcism was warranted but apparently their criteria hadn't been met and nothing had been done there. When she was in High School she'd been committed against her will by her parents because they thought she was a cutter. Three years after the torment started she's stopped talking about it, stopped trying to convince anyone of anything. She was left alone long enough for them to think she was 'cured' and as soon as she was released from the institute she disappeared, though it was obvious that with just a little hard work she could have been found. What angered both Sam and Dean the most, was that it was also obvious no one had cared enough to try and find her, and she'd been left alone to deal with this for the last seventeen years.

"Come on Dean wake up!" Sam muttered between Latin phrases and slapped his face a few times, it was no use, Dean Winchester was out cold.

Sam gasped and coughed, he felt like he'd just swallowed a bug, a really big bug and all around him the debris began to rise and swirl, slowly at first then with increasing speed. He kept reading despite the tornado of potentially hazardous projectiles, pencils, papers, books, a jump rope with weighted grips that seemed to charge directly at him. Ducking out of the way of an errant pencil he blocked with his hand and barked in pain as the shaft of wood and graphite embedded itself into him, not nice and clean through but as if its intention was to cause as much pain as possible. It careened into his palm lengthwise beneath the skin, the point angling deep toward his wrist. His brows furrowed as he looked at his hand and clearly saw the outline of the writing instrument beneath his skin, the perversely cheerful pink of the eraser tip being the only part of it that remained above the skin. _That's not good…_he shook his head stunned and caught sight of something flying at his head. Once more, in a purely defensive move, he threw his arm up, the same one with the pencil embedded in it, and felt the heavy leather of the jump rope wrap around his wrist an un-living constrictor as it twined up and over his elbow, squeezing until the squeezing became a burning and tearing sensation even through the sleeves of his jackets. The other end came up behind him and with the force of a whiplash stunned him hard, sending him face down into the floor with a grunt. Once he was down it slithered around his neck and winding around itself, tight enough to keep him malleable but not to kill him just yet. Apparently the spirit had found his weakness.

He grabbed at the leather rope with his right hand and felt the indescribably odd sensation of the pencil snapping in half beneath his skin. Desperate for a breath, his voice was already hoarse and gritty in his ears as his other hand tried to reach Dean, _Damnit! Why the neck? What's with the whole choking thing! Dean… I'm sorry but I need your help again! Please wake up!_ he thought and felt something almost flicker in the back of his mind. His eyes grew wide for a moment as he lost his balance yet again and felt himself dragged out of the spare room. He closed his eyes and reached out to his big brother, to try and find his consciousness much like Laura had done when he'd been trapped inside his own mind, the only difference was that he couldn't make physical contact with Dean. The furious spirit had him helpless as he was dragged through the hallway now and toward the kitchen. With one hand still deep in the twinning of the jump rope, trying to ensure he had enough air, and the other grasping at walls, corners, anything that could be of some use to stop his progress, or perhaps cut through the binding Sam began to think that they just might be dealing with something beyond their expertise. _Dean! Please wake up! I need you! Please be okay… come back to me Dean! I need your help!_ he called with all of his will evenly divided between gasping for air and trying to rouse his unconscious brother.

In the spare room Dean rolled his head, he could've sworn he heard Sammy calling his name.

"…amm?" he grunted feeling the worst hangover of his life. The whole world was spinning and he was sure he was going to barf. He felt something flutter against his face and brushed it away feeling the telltale sting of a paper cut as he did so. He cracked his eyes open and leaned his head up taking a moment to try and explain to himself what he wasn't sure he was seeing. It appeared there was a small tornado of 'life-stuff' whirling madly in the room and his brother was nowhere to be found.

_Where'd ya go bro? _he wondered. "Sam!" he called more loudly this time and rolled onto his side, his head pulsing and throbbing as his eyes fell on something brown and leather and familiar, _hey that's dad's journal… Sam? Where's Sammy? Why'd he leave it?_ his thoughts were muddled but he quickly realized Sam wouldn't leave Dad's journal without a damned good reason. Probably that he was in some kind of trouble.

"Sammy!" he grunted pushing himself to all fours and grasping the journal, tucking it into his inside jacket pocket as his eyes fell on two tracks leading from the room out into the hall. The tracks of someone being dragged, "Sammy…" he hissed lurching to his feet then promptly tripping over them and running head first into the wall on the far side of the hall. His vision doubled and his knees buckled as he clutched the wall. He sat on his knees for barely a second before pushing himself back up to his feet, using the wall to keep him balanced. He didn't realize as he stumbled down the hall that he was finger painting with his own blood.

_I was supposed to remember something… something to do…something with this…ooh! it's in my pocket I think…_he thought leaning breathless against the wall in the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the knife handles that porcupined the drywall. _Por cu pine pie, por cu pine pie, por cu pine pie…vanilla soup… a double scoop please…_ he heard in the back of his head and chuckled at the odd lyrics…_Where do I know that song from? It sure ain't Mecal…Mecat…Mela…oh screw it…Hettfield's…them… _he slid his hand into the right inside pocket where he found a small paper bag.

_Oh yeah… _he nodded and felt the world tilt under his feet again. _Note to self... don't move head… where the hell is Sammy?_ he wondered dumping the contents of the bag onto the floor. There was a brass bowl with clay in the bottom, a white candle and a smudge stick of sage. Blinking hard, trying to keep his eyes focused he lit the candle then stuck it into the clay succeeding in burning himself thanks to his distorted perception. He picked up the bag and began to mumble the words written in Sam's clear precise hand as he lit the smudge stick, making sure it was burning all the way through before blowing the flame out, wincing from the pain that thundered in his head and sticking it into the clay beside the burning candle.

A hot blast of energy pulsed through the kitchen setting things vibrating and fluttering for a moment before utter silence descended and he leaned against the wall, holding back the urge to throw up with everything he had.

Dean couldn't have said how long he sat there trying to regroup but a faint gurgle and gasp to his right sent his nerves singing as adrenaline plunged through his system as if someone had injected it into his bloodstream. _Sam!_

"Sam!... Sammy?" he called heedless of the pressure that threatened to pop the top of his head off.

On his feet once more, no matter how unsteadily, he crashed along the wall and lurched through the garage door where his throat closed and his world began to spiderweb. "No…" he choked feeling his eyes throw tears onto his face, "Oh God Sammy!" he called looking up at the track on the ceiling where his little brother dangled motionless, hanging by his neck.

--

_Is forever over yet?_ Dean wondered as the world around him began to take on normal shapes and returned to being identifiable images. _Oh yippee another CAT scan… ain't my head dead yet?_ he smiled but was present of mind enough to keep still. The table lurched beneath him and his stomach followed suit, "Puke… gonna puke…" he muttered trying to roll onto his side as hot bile filled the back of his throat.

"Easy there tiger…hold on…." a kind voice urged as the tech slid a garbage can to the side of the table then supported him at the back while using his hip to make sure Dean didn't roll himself right onto the floor. He felt his hand grip the tech's forearm as the spew he'd been holding for what seemed a lifetime finally shut itself of him and left him shaking and wringing wet and weaker than a kitten. After several waves Dean finally let himself roll onto his back and sighed as a cool cloth was placed onto his forehead and another behind his neck.

"Guh…" he grunted and cracked his eyes open. Despite his anguish he couldn't help but return the kindly smile that greeted him. "Mmm, Michael Duncan Clark… or is it Clark Duncan? … you look like him…"

"Too bad my name's Steve… you better enough to get onto the gurney so we can take you back to your room?" he asked.

Dean nodded breathing deep a split second before his eyes popped open and he struggled fantastically to sit up, "Sam! Where's Sammy?" he barked as odd moments flickered and flashed behind his eyes.

"That the boy you came in with?" Steve asked.

"Yeah…is he? Where is he?" Dean asked.

"I think he's being casted… care to tell me how a pencil got shoved up his hand and into his wrist?" Steve asked sliding Dean onto the gurney as if he was no more substantial than a child.

"I don't know… he was hanging… I found him in the garage…we were attacked…" Dean choked on the image of Sam dangling immobile. He saw his hands shaking feebly as he yanked a knife out of the kitchen wall then balanced on a step stool to cut him down. He also remembered stepping down from the stool and toppling over with Sam over his shoulder, then things were dark again, he didn't know for how long but when light came back to him Sam was breathing, shallowly but breathing.

--

"Eight staples huh?" Sam whispered. It didn't hurt so much to whisper.

Dean nodded, "And yet another concussion… one of these days I'm gonna wake up and find a divorce decree from my brain… aw screw it I'm too tired to make a joke…"

"The 'upstairs one'," Sam smiled softly, finishing the statement in what he figured was typical Dean fashion.

Dean nodded and pressed his lips together tight as his eyes fell on the deep dark horizontal bruises across and around Sam's neck. There were three lines of them. "I'm sorry Sam…" he whispered and blinked while his eyes filled up again.

"For what… neither of us realized just how powerful that thing is…none of this is either of our fault…" Sam tried to assure him hastily, he didn't like to see tears in Dean's eyes it frightened him.

Dean sniffed and sucked his fears back, "Yeah… sorry… just… tired."

In the chair beside his brothers' bed Sam nodded, rose and actually tucked the blankets around Dean. "Get some sleep… I'm not going anywhere," he assured then held up his own jonnie as evidence. He might as well stay the night, they wanted him to anyway to make sure he didn't have a stroke or 'throw a clot' as one of the nurses had explained to him. And he wasn't about to leave Dean when he was feeling so vulnerable.

_At least he's not on his death bed this time… thank God!_ Sam thought remembering how for days it seemed his heart did nothing but hammer in his chest, until Roy LeGrange had actually completed the task of healing Dean. Sam knew Dean was angry at him for that incident, he knew Dean didn't think his life was worth having traded it for anyone else but deep down where no one could see, Sam didn't care. He would have traded anyone's life to have Dean healthy again. His own, their dad's, Layla's, anyone's. He knew Dean would never understand how he could feel that way so he kept it down as deep as he could and reminded himself that it was okay to let his big brother know he was loved and needed, once in a while.

"We need to find out who this thing was Sammy… we need to find out where he's buried… then do the salt 'n burn…" Dean muttered sleepily. Part of him knew that this malevolence had once been a person. Perhaps just a broken one at one time, but through the years of being dead it had crossed into evil. Dean wanted it done. What Dean didn't know was that Sam was on exactly the same wavelength. He too believed that this entity had once been a person, and while Dean rested, he was planning on going back and talking to Miss Guinardi. Somehow the answers lay with her. Of that much, he was certain.

Sam sat in the chair, the pain in his back barely noticeable so long as he didn't move much, and dozed contentedly as Dean drifted to sleep, lightly at first then much deeper. Deep enough so that Sam felt comfortable leaving the room and going to visit Carol.

_Did you ever think you should salt and burn Aaron Beyers?_ a tiny voice in the back of his dreams asked,but he didn't want to hear that question right now. _This isn't about me… this is about Carol Guinardi…_ his eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright in the bed looking hastily around the room.

"Sam?" he called softly, the gray of twilight making everything look grainy and surreal.

Moving carefully Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. His first few steps were shaky and slightly off balance but once he was in his own clothes and shed of the jonnie he started to feel better.

He moved down the hall, Sam's bag of clothes swinging dizzyingly against his gait, and kept his eyes fixed on the elevator that would take him to Carols' floor. He tried to step up his pace as one of the doors opened, but stopped in his tracks surprised when Sam emerged, did a double take upon seeing him and cocked his head to the side.

"Dean? What is it? What's up?" he asked.

"Get dressed, we got places to go and people to see," Dean instructed handing the bag to Sam.

"Now? Tonight?" Sam asked as they returned to the room so he could change.

"Yeah… look she's from Okalahoma right? Initially anyway, all the information is at the motel, we gotta talk to her parents."

Please, and as always… Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

Reprisals chpt 5

Dean pressed the end button on his phone and dropped it onto the bed, chewing on his thumb nail.

"The mom's not home yet and apparently this isn't the dad that was around when Carol was still Karen, he said he'd give her the message though."

"Does he know how to contact the dad that was?" Sam asked shuffling the printed pages Dean had acquired yesterday around on the bed then stuck his finger into the cast that went halfway up his forearm, "Why my _right_ hand!" he asked frustrated and gritted his teeth trying to get at the itch, though for obvious reasons, reluctant to use a pencil to do so. He shook his head looking at the diagonal tear that went from his elbow and disappeared down under the fiberglass. He knew he'd felt his skin burn and feel like it was tearing beneath his jackets but he didn't really think it had. Oddly enough his clothes weren't torn this time, it was a lot like skinning the knee without ripping the jeans, it happened but not often.

"Dude from what I heard you're lucky you came away with just a cast… that thing could've slit a nerve or something then you'd be walking around like little hand guy from Scary Movie…ah aah… and you'd never be able to have the same kind of relationship with your left…"

Sam huffed grinning and shook his head, "Ahhh the voice of experience…"

"Yeah right," Dean snickered, "… anyway this one doesn't even know if the guy's alive or dead… doesn't care…" Dean shook his head and went to the desk where the laptop was set up. "There's something that doesn't match up here Sammy… I'm telling you that spirit… whoever it is… it's personal with her… it's vengeful man…"

"You think it just took after us because we got in the way?" Sam asked.

"That's exactly what I think… I think it's going to do whatever it takes, go through whoever it has to in order to get to her, but it doesn't like an audience y'know? It separated us, it's left her alone each time she's been in the hospital. It leaves her be until she's recovered enough to go home… it likes to…" he stopped, shook his head and took a deep draught on his bottle of water, "It likes to… do what it does in private…" he finished and nodded flicking his steely gaze to Sam's curious puppy look.

"How would you know that?" Sam asked.

"Websites mostly…a few books here and there…" Dean kept his eyes glued to the monitor, "There's not much difference between a pissed off vengeful spirit and the mental processes of a psychopath… believe it or not…"

Sam shook his head dumbfounded, "Who the hell _are_ you?"

"I do read once in a while…"

"Yeah but something that isn't an…"

"Aahhup!" Dean warned holding up his finger and looking at Sam sternly.

"I was going to say obituary,"

"Oh…" Dean nodded and returned to business for a moment before turning and catching Sam's eyes again, "And for the record… I'm kind of on a Jean Auel kick right now."

Sam shook his head completely stunned. He hadn't seen Dean read a book with any deliberate intent in years.

"Dean we're together almost twenty four seven… when do you read? When I'm asleep?" Sam asked wondering if there was a punch line coming.

Dean half shrugged and nodded, "Yeah… well Grandma crashes early y'know, and late night tv ain't all it's cracked up to be so…"

"You are so lying…" Sam felt his mouth hanging open and couldn't seem to close it.

Dean shrugged and went back to focusing on the screen as Sam grabbed his bag and stuck his good arm into it feeling around until to his dismay he felt the unmistakable outline of a paperback. He pulled it from the depths of the bag and looked in astonishment from the dog eared cover to his brother. He fanned the pages and found that many of them had been dog eared and that the most recent one was just over halfway through the book.

"You're reading The Plains of Passage?" he asked.

"Mmm hmm."

"Did you read the others?"

"Clan of the Cave Bear, Valley of Horses, The Mammoth Hunters… yep, you can get me the next one for my Birthday," Dean muttered and waved Sam over to him, "Well, well, well, look what I found…"

"What?" Sam asked dropping the book as if it burned his hands. He was eager to set his world right and joined Dean at the computer, looking for clues to the identity of the bad guy, and what Carol Guinardi/Karen Adams was hiding.

"Oklahoma City Court document concerning one Plaintiff Karen Louise Adams, Vee the State of Oklahoma and The Camp Chipwanee Board of Directors…" Dean's voice dropped low and though Sam was hard pressed to believe it possible, it seemed Dean's concentration sharpened as he scrolled through the first pages of the document.

"This isn't gonna be good…" Dean muttered as Sam pulled up a chair and scanned through the document while his brothers' eyes flicked between Sam's face and the screen. Sam didn't notice that a few paragraphs into it, Dean pushed back from his chair and angled the screen so his trusty sidekick "Geek Boy" could put his three and a half years at Stanford to good use. Besides, the clenching in his guts told Dean all he really needed to know. When a child's guardian sued a state and a Summer Camp… it didn't take a college graduate to figure out what went down.

Sammy didn't notice right away that Dean had left him to peruse the documents on his own. He didn't notice either, that as he waited for Sam's summation he'd propped himself up in his bed and actually seemed to be reading his book instead of flipping through tv channels like he usually did even though Sam had told him on countless occasions that it was distracting. He also didn't notice Dean's eyes flit from the dog eared page to Sam's changing expression as if he was watching tv. And despite it all, Sam didn't notice almost an hour later, as he was approaching the one third point in the documentation of the trial that Dean had fallen asleep.

--

The pages of testimony engulfed Sam's attention and spun a story that made his belly crawl and his bowels tighten.

In the Summer of 1982, at the age of 9, Karen Louise Adams was dropped off at the Camp Chipwanee premises where after checking in and obtaining her bunk assignment, she kissed her parents goodbye with a happy smile and watched them pull off down the driveway, knowing she'd see them in just a few weeks on parent visiting day and figuring she'd talk to them on the phone in just a few days. Once she got her activities schedule confirmed.

The orientation tour wasn't for a couple hours yet and Karen had decided to refresh her memory and see what had been added to the grounds since last summer, so tossing her suitcase into the footlocker figuring to unpack it tonight after the 'Welcome Campers' s'mores fest; and while the girls were trading tales of events of the previous school year, who kissed who, who liked who, who got to first base and just what exactly they thought first base was, was the perfect time to unpack.

Karen Adams never made it to the 'Welcome Campers' S'mores fest. For nineteen days no one saw her and somehow her arrival, check in, and belongings seemed to fall from the face of the Earth until she emerged one day near the hitching posts, bruised, battered, bloodied and barely alive.

The first time she awoke was in the infirmary where one of the Nurses Aids from the previous year recognized her, and her 'reservation' at the camp was confirmed by another adult, and her arrival by yet another.

Her parents were called and she was transferred to a nearby hospital for proper care. She was given i.v.'s and examined in ways and places that were almost as humiliating as what had been done to her. When the adults asked her what happened some of them had seemed to care and even to listen to what she had to say, until her parents came. That was when the listening stopped and the accusations started, and that was when she'd shut down and stopped talking. Fortunately she'd told the police everything she could remember about where she'd been and as she said they would, they found the body of her kidnapper – abuser in the basement of a nearby farm house where they'd also dug up several children's skeletons. Fortune had smiled a twisted grin on Karen Adams that summer, she'd managed to get away from her abductor simply by sticking her foot out at the right time but the price she would pay down the line was one she'd never thought possible.

If she'd known as a child what she'd endure as a teen and adult, how this evil would fill her life and infest her being, she would have thrown herself onto the chef's knife rather than tripping Edward Jacob Simons.

--

Sam sat back from the screen and scrubbed his face with his hand then wiped his misty eyes. The child's testimony was heartbreaking and he wondered if he could have put a child through all those horrific questions and cross examinations, asking for details that made him want to retch when he read them. He shook his head and caught sight of his brother on his back, arm across his chest with his book pressed beneath it, his breathing light but his brow was furrowed and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something.

He smiled easily and shook his head, every time he thought he had Dean pretty well pegged he turned up another surprise, he liked to read… _Don't worry, I won't tell anyone…sleep easy, I've got a feeling we're heading to Oklahoma in the morning._ He nodded and rose stiffly from the chair, trying to stretch out the kinks as he went to his bed and pulled the comforter off then draped it over Dean. He pulled the edge of it back as Dean shook his head and his brows squeezed tight, a sharp grunt came from the back of his throat and Sam slid his fingers under his arm to remove the book from his grip.

Dean felt something flutter over him and shook his head, there were voices in his mind, whispered questions and comments and a sick slimy feeling over his chest. _No…stop this, stop this NOW!_ his mind shouted and his eyes ripped open as a gasp tore from his throat. His hand reached up, his fingers twining into Sam's shirt as his eyes bulged and he looked around the room reminding himself of where he was.

"Hey! Dean! Whoa… you alright?" Sam asked peeling his brothers' fingers from the front of his shirt.

He blinked hard a few times, disoriented and breathing hard until he saw the concern in Sam's face and quickly shook off the weird feeling that had woken him up.

"Yeah… what? When? What time is it?" he asked.

"About 2:30…" Sam answered softly looking curiously at his older brother. He hadn't had a nightmare in months unless you counted that time they were on the road back to Nebraska to see their dad at Bobby's. "Bad dream?" he asked.

"In the morning?" Dean asked noting Sam's nod, "Not really just… weird…What is it? You have a vision?"

"No. I was just covering you up man… you looked cold."

"Uh…thanks," Dean grunted and scratched his head, his fingers catching on a couple of the staples and making him wince.

"What was it?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"The dream… what was it?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head and his face crumpled trying to remember, something had made him uneasy, a sound like rushing water in his ears, like too many voices saying the same thing all at once then each one splitting off into a different question, each only one of dozens and then that sick pressure in his chest, "I don't remember…it was just weird…" he shook his head again and noted the computer was closed. "What about the transcription?"

Sam shook his head, "Evil stuff… the things people do to each other…I'll fill you in while we're en route to Oklahoma…"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, Oklahoma… okay…" his breathing was normal and his expression beneath the daily one he wore, was still a little confused, but then again it'd been a really hard day for them both. Dean pulled the comforter up to his neck and rolled onto his side, his back toward Sam who pat him on the shoulder and started to get ready for bed himself.

--

In the periphery of her awareness Carol Guinardi heard the curtain next to her bed slide on its runner and turned her head to the side, _Damned hospitals! Can't ever leave you alone, wake you up at three in the morning to give you a freakin' sleeping pill… _A rolling sound that reminded her of a Big Wheel on cement threatened to pull her consciousness up all the way from her healing sleep. _Just ignore it, it'll go away_, she heard her inner voice admonish…

Her eyes snapped open as the bed curtain closed her off from the view of any passerby down the corridor and the electrical cord from her monitor slithered around her neck crushing her larynx, sawing through her anterior neck as it wound itself around and around like the coils of a sadistic slinky. She felt pressed into the bed, in the same way as one of those medieval devices and try though she might, she couldn't budge the force holding her down. She felt a sickening hot slicing in her throat and then hot fluid running out of her, arterial spray streaked across the curtain making it wave faintly in the night, and another jet across the wall on her other side as the cut was completed and she knew her struggles were finally over. She knew her body was finally following the spirit-death Edward Jacob Simons had caused a total of twenty six years ago, when he'd first grabbed her in the woods by the stable.

"Guess what?" she felt that voice that haunted her existence whisper into her ear as life-light drifted out of the depths of her eyes, "I've got a new playmate… I don't need you anymore…"

TBC

Guys seriously... I'm begging... Please… really need to know if it's going right...

Thanks

sifi


	6. Chapter 6

Reprisals - Chpt 6

The sun had just finished clearing the Eastern horizon when Dean shook hands with the motel clerk and strode from the office. He and Sam were headed to Oklahoma to put an end to this job, the spirit of Edward Jacob Simons and Carol Guinardi's torment. If they'd moved slower by as little as ten seconds that morning Dean would have heard the news report that the clerk turned to watch just after the door closed behind him.

"…and in local news this morning police are baffled by the brutal and bizarre murder of a woman while in the care of a local area medical center... We'll have more details on this horrifying story when we return…" assured the perky newscaster as she nodded with her practiced solemnity.

--

Miles unwound behind them and though Dean's music selection was typical, as was the volume, Sam noticed a certain difference that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't the same as the richness he'd been feeling lately, this was like the weight of a finely crafted blade, perfectly weighted and balanced, sharp and unseen unless it was caught in just the right light. He wanted to ask Dean what it was about, but he didn't want to either.

Sam leaned back closing his eyes and worked hard to convince himself that there were tons of reason for his big brother to take this one personally. This spirit had hurt them both, it had been tormenting a helpless woman unchecked for two decades give or take, the parents were horribly neglectful according to the puzzle pieces they'd managed to assemble, and the fact that the man who'd become the spirit had been a serial killer, heading in the same direction as John Wayne Gacy made them both sick. Sam knew though that no matter how much he might rib Dean about being more of a child than knowing much about them, he really was only teasing. The experiences they'd had with Lucas and Michael alone, not to mention that Dean had practically raised him belied his brothers' natural ease with children. _He's going to make one hell of a dad one day._ Sam thought feeling lips stretch just a bit as he scooted down in the seat and jerked upright against the seatbelt, his back reminding him that there was still a lot of healing to do.

"Still hurts?" Dean asked without taking his eyes off the road.

_Forget 'Mom' vision… he doesn't miss a thing!_ "Little…it's alright though… Dean…" he started then shook his head.

"Hmm?"

Sam shook his head again but it only served to make Dean glance at him, "What?"

"Did you read the summation I printed up for you?" Sam asked limply. He knew Dean hadn't read it, they'd both woke up within minutes of each other, what he wanted to know was what exactly the hell was going on with his brother… _Maybe I'm just being hyper-sensitive… I mean… it's DEAN…_.

Dean shook his head, "I figured I'd just let my legal advisor run it down for me…" he smiled easily and turned down the radio.

And so Sam did. He watched Dean carefully when it came to details he'd read in the transcription and saw his own disgust for what this reprehensible man had stolen from children, mirrored in his face. There was more he noticed though, a kind of sadness beneath the anger. The correlation that came immediately to mind was the idea of a beautiful perfect birthday cake in a bakery window, with glistening icing that was made just to melt on the tongue, but when you cut into it you find the icing is paint and the cake is no more than styrofoam.

"Why are you looking at me like a bug?" Dean asked not even bothering to glance out the corner of his eye, "You've been doing that since the hospital…"

Sam shook his head and smiled sheepishly, his hand caught in a mental cookie jar, "Sorry… just wondering how you're holding up with the concussion and all."

"I told you… you're not driving until I can't see straight anymore…" Dean admonished as Fat Bottom Girls began to play from the tape in the deck and Dean turned it up reflexively and smiled at the tune.

Sooner than they'd thought the sun leap-frogged them and they found themselves another room in yet another motel. They were half a day's drive away from Mountain Park Oklahoma, where jurisdiction for the now defunct Camp Chipwanee grounds lay. Not to mention Edward Jacob Simons' property. It only made sense that he would be buried in the area. Mountain Park was little more than a one stop shopping area and neither of them figured to have much difficulty finding what they'd need at the Town Hall. If need be, they would be able to gain access Simons' property through the woods at the edge of the defunct campground and remain hopefully unseen by any potential passers by.

--

"Dean! I told him… I told him I wasn't afraid! That I knew it wasn't dad!..." Sammy squirmed and tugged against the vise-like fingers. He was being dragged by the hair out of the cage and across the living room toward the makeshift altar that the thing using John's image had created.

"Good job runt…" Dean nodded, his face stony, his eyes deep emerald as he sneered and held up his gun, pointing it directly at John's head…

"You can't beat me..." the thing grinned hideously.

"I don't have to… I know you…" thirteen year old Dean sneered and watched as Sam finally squirmed free and bolted for the door. This time, instead of turning the knob and dashing out of this nightmare and back into his own consciousness he stopped and turned, watching as the visage of the John thing closed on Dean and became someone else. He became a skinny man with clown-like make up that seemed to be smeared all over his face.

Dean's heart froze for a moment before taking off at breakneck speed, threatening to lurch into his throat as the skinny man with ash tray breath grabbed his chin and leaned in. He grinned with cracked yellow-brown teeth, his eyes flicked from the depths of Dean's green ones to the wide curious Sammy eyes at the door. "Such a treat…" he breathed copious fumes into Dean's face and licked his lips while looking at his little brother.

"Don't you touch him!" thirteen year old Dean growled with his almost grown up voice as something gnawed with little rats teeth in his belly, "Sammy get out of here NOW!" he shouted and seemed frozen. The hand that held his head did so with a frightening amount of strength, he saw from the corner of his eye Sam finally turn the knob and dash out of the nightmare.

The skinny man caught his eyes and smiled while holding his head still, pressed against a cold stone wall, "Ahhh, alone at last…" he breathed mashing his stinky mouth down onto Dean's.

_Wake up NOW! Stop this!... STOP!_

Air hissed from Dean's mouth as he snapped awake, his right arm swinging out in front of him while he drew his left over his face. Sweat dripped down his neck and back feeling like a finger tracing an erotic path and his body jerked reflexively until he was sitting firm up against the wall steadying his breath with his hand over his mouth and his eyes wide, searching the darkness in disbelief.

Several moments later his straining bladder forced him into the bathroom where after he was done he stood in the dark, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the towel and avoided looking into his own reflection. _Just a dream, is all. Yeah but Sammy… Sammy wasn't there… but he saw… no, he didn't… it was just a dream, it's just this case… I am gonna salt and burn that son of a bitch as soon as this is over though …nothing's going to happen to Sam, it's okay… _he breathed deep and could have sworn he smelled that unforgettable blend of stale cigarette smoke and fermented b.o. He grabbed his toothbrush and squirted a wad of minty blue onto it before scrubbing the lingering taste of disgust from his mouth.

Dean cast a glance at Sam's bed as he slid back under his own covers and thanked whatever powers there were in the Universe that he hadn't woken him up. He drew the blankets up to his neck, punched the pillow under his ear and lay on his side facing the wall, his eyes wide open for a while before he finally drifted off again, into dreamless sleep for the remainder of the night.

_Another one Dean?_ Sam wondered curiously as he watched his brother brush his teeth almost violently, as if he'd eaten something out of one of those Fear Factor dares.

--

In the morning, with Dean sprawled on his back like he'd seen him ten thousand times before, Sam forgot momentarily about having seen him start awake in the middle of the night. He smiled as the door swung shut hard behind him, the noise, not really a slam rousing his brother.

"Mmmm mornin'," Dean grunted stretching the length of the bed and sighing contentedly as Sam set down the breakfast he'd brought.

"Morning… it's 7:30, before you ask… I figure if we hit the road by nine we should make it to the hall of records by about 2:30, 3:00…ish, then depending on what we find there..."

Dean nodded, "Ish?" he questioned sitting up scratching his bed-head and once more raking across the staples in his scalp, "ouch," he sighed more out of habit than any actual pain. "How're you?" he asked eyeing the cast then sliding his gaze up to Sam's neck. The bruises were still painfully clear but at least they were starting to green up a bit, a sure sign that they were healing.

"Long as I chew my food I'm alright…" Sam shrugged smiling then met his older brothers eyes, his expression deadly serious, "I gotta say you were right though," he admitted.

"I was?..." Dean muttered over his first sip of coffee, "'bou what?"

"That whole… relationship with my left hand… have you ever tried brushing your teeth with your left hand?" he grinned as a light went on almost dead center in his brain and he asked over his brothers' smile, "Hey… did you get up in the middle of the night and brush your teeth?"

"Hmm?" Dean grunted looking at Sam like he'd asked him if he'd just sprouted wings, he shook his head then remembered as an uneasy feeling woke up within him, "Yeah, I think I did… case of cow pie mouth I guess…"

"Hmmm," Sam nodded ripping into his egg sandwich.

"What?" Dean asked tilting his head to the side wondering what had woken him up anyway.

"Another weird dream?" Sam asked.

Dean thought for a minute and shook his head, at a loss, "Not that I recall… how 'bout you? Any premonitions Kreskin?"

"Naah, don't expect any, we know this is an angry spirit, we know why it's angry…"

"Yeah, the guy it used to be was a psychopath…."

"Exactly… the only read I think I can get on it is like at the house y'know? That totally hostile vibe but… nothing else really," he explained as Dean went into the bathroom.

"Well… once we get there are you gonna be willing to try and see what you can sense?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "I'll give it a shot if you want me to… wait a minute, I thought we were going to hit the hall of records and see where he's buried then do our little song and dance and call it a night…"

Dean swung his head around the door jamb and shrugged, "Course that's what we're going to do but I got a couple little side trips planned."

"Oh really?" Sam asked, "Like to where?"

This time Dean's smile really was of the 'wouldn't you like to know' variety as he said, "You'll see…"

"Dean we're not going to go bug the parents… they don't give a damn!" Sam frowned remembering an incident in a store not too long ago when a parent made the mistake of raising their hand to their child within sight of Dean. It wasn't something simple like the child had been crying for a toy or throwing a tantrum for no reason, the fact of the matter was that the child was blatantly and obviously frightened. It was Sam who'd realized the child was sensitive when the lost spirit they were looking for walked through a clothing carousel and started the child crying. To this very moment the events were a blur in Sam's mind. One second he was pointing out the location of the distraught spirit to Dean and the next the child had begun to scream and the parent's hand was in the air.

In just another second Dean was there, the woman's wrist cinched in his frighteningly powerful grip, his eyes as hard as malachite as he stared down the speechless woman and said softly, "She's just scared,"

"Of what?" the mother challenged even though she was wavering on her feet.

"It doesn't matter, she's your daughter, she's scared, be a mother," he admonished and disappeared before the woman had regained her senses.

"Oh yes Sam… yes we are…" Dean nodded.

"No Dean… they don't know, they haven't been there…" he tried to persuade and nearly fell off his chair as Dean stormed from the bathroom, his face a visage of rage as he hauled him bodily out of the chair.

"No! They **don't** know! They **weren't** there! They left her alone to fend for herself against this thing! They _abandoned_ her!"

"She ran away…" Sam countered matter-of-factly.

"They LET her!" Dean railed in return, his hands tight fists entwined in Sam's hoodie as their gazes met in a stony stalemate.

Dean swallowed hard and smoothed Sam's shirt, "After what she lived through, they might as well have left her in a ditch once they won the settlement, they could have…" he didn't know what he expected really, whether it was as simple as support or as complex as belief it didn't matter. That the mother in particular had abandoned her, emotionally if in no other way made him furious.

"What Dean? These are regular people, they don't know what we do… they haven't seen what we've seen… you know that as well as I do…" Sam rationed.

Dean nodded, his lips pursing as he leaned in and said simply, "Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children…"

Sam nodded, "Great movie… but Dean… look I know this case is hard for you… I know how kid-stuff makes you crazy…"

"Do you!" Dean barked sarcastically, his face a sneer of pure sarcasm, "Well alright mister know-it-all… you tell me? What exactly is it that you think you know huh?" he challenged, part of him ready to drag the huge steamer trunk out from beneath the stairs of his mind, ready to throw the contents open before his brother, in fact part of him just salivating at the possibility of finally relieving some of his burden to someone who he oddly enough, now believed could still support him no matter what.

_Rein it in there cowboy! We made a deal! never, Never… NEVER! Do you understand me! There ain't no frikkin' way so just you put that chest back and forget about it! NO ONE, NEVER! PERIOD! End of Statement…Besides, what I went through… squat, nothing, nada…those other kids, those 987 pictures you got buried in here? Simons' victims?… they're the ones to do this for, you… buddy you got bupkiss… suck it up._

Dean drew a breath and nodded at the voice in his head. That voice was right after all, he'd been lucky, blessed beyond belief in fact. He had no right to complain.

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him Sam noticed as Dean nodded, apparently to himself or some inner sensibility and bowed his head, "You're right Sam… sorry man… like you said… it's just… **kids**…y'know? There's three kinds of people you don't hurt y'know?" he questioned, his eyes searching for forgiveness.

"Old people, kids and preggers… I know," Sam nodded smiling and counting himself barely victorious over an almost overwhelming urge to throw his arms around Dean. He could almost feel how healing such a gesture would be to his big brother but something held him back, maybe Dean just wasn't ready for it yet.

--

They stood at the periphery of what appeared to have been the demarcation of a yard, once upon a long ago anyway, and took in the ramshackle planks of gray wood attached by the merest definition of the word to the decaying wooden skeleton of the structure.

"Why would you want to come here?" Sam asked shaking his head thinking that this place made the Benders' stead look like the Ritz.

"Call it a morbid fascination…besides, what're we going to do until tonight when we can get to the cemetery to do what we do best?" Dean asked with an odd mix of snide and sobriety as he left Sam standing on the edge of the woods and approached the house with nearly magnetic surety.

"Stay away from pitchforks or anything else sharp would ya?" Dean admonished wryly as Sam angled toward the barn and he toward the house.

"Hey, fiberglass bludgeon…and an iron baton… don't worry about me," Sam assured him shaking his head.

"And glass, and crystal, and jump-ropes and pencils…" he rattled to himself and thought, _Don't you get it by now Sam? I can't help it, it's what I do…_ as he moved from the padlocked back door to the cellar door that had long ago been broken into, probably by the cops or local teens looking for a perverse thrill. Either way Dean didn't care so long as no one surprised him. He didn't want to kill some sad squatter that was for sure.

He couldn't really have given a solid explanation for why he wanted to check the place out, why he felt compelled to ensure that the previous residence of this malevolence had been nothing more than a man in his earthly life but if there was one thing Dean Winchester did well, it was follow his instincts. So, with that in mind, he descended the mold slick cement steps into what he would soon discover was the first level of the cellar.

The walls were little more than stacked cobblestones cemented with clay-like mud with many an area exposed to bare earth thanks to time and poor efforts at maintenance while the house was inhabited. Down here the temperature was easily ten or more degrees cooler than it was outside and through the open cellar doors a cool wet wind rolled off the surroundings hills and into the chamber singing old earthy songs as it came in and raised his hackles to attention.

His gun in his right hand, flashlight in his left he really wished for no more than his cell phone to work down here but there were no towers in this little area and they weren't quite up to paying for satellite phones consistently just yet. _Okay so this is a little creepy and yeah I wouldn't mind listening to Mr. Peabody rattle on about Early American architecture for a while… why am I doing this? What in the hell am I hoping to find out? Just how big a freak this bastard was? Cause… know that… How much worse… shut it… no evidence… never happened… nothing do you get it? Why won't you let me forget then? Hey don't blame me! I'm the one who put it in the damned lock box… you're the one who dragged it out! Did not… Yeah huh! _He shook his head and grasped at the wall as the voices arguing in his head made him dizzy. "Shut up both of you!" he whispered angrily then chuckled as the beam from his flashlight fell into something very dark gray. "Wouldn't that just be a pistol… have Sammy find his way down here and hear me having a conversation with myself… well okay more of an argument but… still at least I've got a concussion as an excuse…" he chuckled out loud and wondered if everyone occasionally felt a little unhinged as he moved cautiously toward the light eating darkness with just a glance behind him to ensure that there really was no one blowing on the back of his neck, making his skin crawl.

_Well what have we here?_ he snarked to himself as the light penetrated the darkness and bounced off a wall in front of him. He swung the beam to the left, another wall, to the right, a not-wall. He entered the narrow passageway cautiously and felt the ground slope beneath his feet as he continued the scent of decay and mildew redolent in his nose. _Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a masochist…this guy wasn't into anything, he was just a garden variety serial killer… just another Gacy wannabe that couldn't let go of his pathos even in death! Heh, pathos… Sam would get a kick out of hearing me use that one…_but something drew him forward, deep into the heart of enemy territory.

He knew it had only been a couple hundred yards and perhaps another ten feet down judging by both the incline and the change in temperature he'd noticed but he felt the walls wanting to close on either side of him. The passageway was narrow enough, barely enough room for him to fit from shoulder to shoulder and the ceiling only a few inches above his head. _Snug fit… if the snug doesn't fit ye must acquit… _he thought arbitrarily as the idea of the walls closing around him seemed to clamor even more loudly for his attention than before.

Just ahead a few more yards the beam from his light diffused into what was obviously a more open area. He cast a glance back over his shoulder wondering if there was anything worth seeing at the end of this little habitrail, _Just go do your duty, then you can say you swept it from stem to stern and know you did your best, I mean hell man, you're already here… you might as well look around…_This was the voice that helped him through those moments when even he needed a little extra fortification, and sometimes it sounded like his dad, sometimes like Bobby, Joshua, Shep, and even the recently departed Caleb or Pastor Jim, sometimes it even sounded like himself, like now.

What he found upon entering the central chamber stunned him deep inside and turned his blood cold. Pounded into the floor he found pegs, corkscrew types that people used to chain their dogs in their yard and still let them run around a bit. Heavy duty chains linked with medieval looking shackles and manacles, the newer aluminum a stark contrast to the black irons. There were four pegs and sixteen leads with corresponding irons. His mouth ran dry and he blinked hard as his eyes took in a few more details, slowly at first. Each wall of the central chamber had a door that as he walked around he realized culminated in a cell where there were steel or iron rings embedded into much more well constructed walls and yet another from the ceiling.

_I'm gonna puke…what is it with freaks like this and chains?_ he wondered, his mind flashing back to the basement of Aaron Beyers' house where much newer chains and shackles were secured around the central "I" beam that supported the living room floor. Aaron Beyers however had been what most shrinks would call 'disorganized' he was opportunistic and frequently made due with what life handed him, which according to the pictures he'd had taped to the room Dean had found himself in, was plenty. _Something isn't right here… yeah where do I start?_ he scoffed at himself returning to the main hallway that led him to this place_, I don't mean it like that… yeah… I know… that crawly feeling in my guts? Yep that's the one…try not to feel it…_

"Dean? Where are you?" Sam's strong voice carried down the corridor as Dean took one last look over his shoulder, into the 'pit' as he already thought of it and slid his gun into the back of his pants.

"Down here Sam…" he choked with the driest mouth he'd ever felt and turned, his feet tangling upon themselves as he felt something shove him hard between his shoulder blades sending him careening into the wall. This time though, he caught himself and turned as the sound of a big wheel on cement rolled into his head and he felt something grasp him by the wrists. He felt his body take flight only to land seconds later almost perfectly in the crook where the floor met the wall. _Ouch!_ he thought feeling his head jar against the stone wall though without the damage caused at Carol Guinardi's house, and lastly his eyes fell on his gun laying almost perfectly in the center of the four pegs.

_Just freakin' brilliant Dean, the cops would've taken his toys, there wouldn't be any stakes, or chains or manacles… get it? Yeah… I get that now…thanks. _

"Sammy! Get the shotgun!" he called and felt himself dragged across the pit before he was flung with as much care as a rag doll into one of the cells where the door slammed and the deadbolt locked itself just before that big wheel roll rang out again and he was able to identify the sound. It was laughter, and behind that, the sound of something miserably heavy scraping on rock as his flashlight flickered and finally went out casting him in penetrative darkness.

Please… have the tummy ooglies started? I need to know.

Thanks.

sifi


	7. Chapter 7

Reprisals chpt 7

While Dean searched the blackness of his cell with his hands, looking, as it were, for any means of releasing himself from this impromptu imprisonment while Sam went back to the car for the shotgun, he cursed himself for needing to come here. For once more putting them both in unnecessary danger.

"We could've waited for night at the motel, we could've shot some pool, or gone swimming or played FREAKIN' CHECKERS! but NO! Let's go check out the psycho's old house! Damned Stinkin' Brilliant Dean!" he hollered at himself as he slammed his fists against the heavy wooden door of his cell. He knew far too well that the doors opened outward, which could come in handy if he could get enough momentum up but without light to see the state of the hinges and latch he might just be wasting energy he could use to fight later. "Hurry up Sam…" he sighed and lurched at the door, _Reserves? To hell with reserves! I want out!_ but it was no use. The door wasn't going to budge without some help. _Oooh!_ he thought feeling around in his pockets. His hand caressed the smooth casing of his latest lighter and he grinned to himself opening it and striking the wheel with a satisfied smirk.

The little yellow flame nearly blinded him with its brightness and he realized just how pitch the dark was in this horrible place. He raised his arm above his head to throw as much light as possible into his cell and took in his surroundings. Light fell on the door, _hard wood with old fashioned iron clamps and hinges, other than that, featureless, _he noted. _Okay that means there's a drop style or slide type lock, probably iron. If I keep battering at the door maybe I can pop the bolts out… yeah' cause I'm freaking hercules, keep dreaming Dean… It's a fair distance to the car, just hold on, Sammy'll be back… why didn't we bring one of the guns with us? Oh yeah… because there wasn't supposed to be anyone here! Why is it here instead of hanging around Carol? _he wondered and turned to his left to get the measure of his cell before he wasted all his lighter fluid.

His peripheral vision was good despite the gloom but inertia and elementary laws of physics kept him moving until he came nose to nose with a pale gray face framed by a quintessential 80's mullet. No matter how fast his reactions might have been in any circumstances, there was no way they could've been fast enough here. The face before him leered suggestively for a split second before puckering up and literally sliding through Dean's face and deep into his skull. He felt, rather than heard himself scream.

Icy burning flew through his shocked expression and deep into his head even as he shook it back and forth and did his best to slap away his incorporeal assailant while backing away and finding himself slammed into a corner, pinned by the layers of things that exploded into happening on top of one another. He had one more coherent thought before the burst of laughter in his mind blocked everything out temporarily. _Hurry up Sam…_

--

Sam climbed down from the loft and did one last quick pass-through of the dilapidated barn before heading out across the yard and down into the cellar where he knew Dean had entered the house.

"Dean?" he called shining his flashlight around the dim room. _Damn cold… where the hell did he go?_ he wondered sweeping the walls a little more slowly. He could see areas where the bricks had either fallen or been pulled out of the dirt, where plant roots waved at him on his right. To his left and dead ahead the walls were lined with shelves that appeared to have been built into the structure. The stairs leading up into the house proper were in front of him in the right hand corner and the area behind him was exactly like the wall to his right, loose brick and barely seeming to hold together.

_Okay… he's probably upstairs_ Sam decided, and moved through the cellar to the stairs that would take him into the farmhouse kitchen. At the top of the stairs he felt his hackles rise up and turned quickly, the flashlight in his bad hand and the iron baton gripped just so in his left, ready to swing. His brows furrowed but he sighed relieved when he saw nothing behind him, _I think I'd give just about anything to hear Dean laying out one of his famous play by play's of some female conquest right now… Maybe…_ he pulled his cell and dialed Dean hoping that since he wasn't in the cellar that somehow he might be able to get a signal or at least a ring then he would know Sam was looking for him and would make his location known.

"No signal" the display read as Sam hit end and stuck the device back into his pocket. He felt tension creeping along his shoulders and into the back of his neck, he didn't want to be here, he'd been following Dean's crazy 'morbid fascination' and now he was starting to feel something in the pit of his belly. He just hoped he didn't wind up having any visions of what this sick pervert did to the kids he'd taken. After reading Karen Adams' testimony he didn't think he could bear a visual to go with the images his own imagination dredged up. _Why would Dean have _ever_ researched psychopaths?_ he thought shaking his head, _something isn't right, this whole case has got him crazier than usual, it's gotta be the kid angle…_ "…your dad says he took you to Sasquahana… kinda the last thing he remembers…" Caleb said softly and sat on the tree-trunk bench next to Dean as Sammy played with the coolest Radio Controlled car ever! This one did flips and spins and stuff and Sam was glad Dean was letting him have a fair turn at it.

"Uh huh," Dean grunted, his eyes never leaving Sam as he kicked up pale clouds of dust in the dry heat.

"You know the nexus he took you too was one of the last uncorrupted ones in the area, that's why he took you there… he was trying to shield you from those things…" Caleb continued.

"I know," Dean nodded easily, their friends explained to him how John had been infiltrated, and the Foenwyn had discovered Dean's existence before he was aware of their presence. John had known Dean could survive on his own but with Sam thrown into the mix, and the fear he knew his boy would feel he couldn't be sure Dean would be able to act rationally enough for them both, so he'd relieved Dean of the onus of his younger brother until the situation could be dealt with, and the enemy entities eradicated.

The memory came unbidden to Sam as he stood at the foot of the stairs that would take him to the second story of the house, he felt a pressure in his chest and his throat tightened just a little more than it already was. He could see thirteen year old Dean sitting on the bench, his right forefinger in a splint, his eyes barely blinking as he kept them on him while he played. _Yeah, that was a hard summer, he was like a giant shadow_, Sam smiled shaking his head, _he used to complain about me following him around all the time but that year, I remember, it was like he couldn't stand to be alone, like he wouldn't leave me alone… was he like that before then? I don't think so, but considering we almost died… he would've been alone,_ he barely noticed his own feet carrying him up the stairs as he pondered if that was the summer Dean's fear of abandonment came into full bloom. _I mean he was always uber protective, it was his job… dad made sure he never forgot that, but…_ he stopped, his mind flashing back to another day, not much later that summer when Sam was outside with Grindle, Caleb's German Shepard and Dean had come flying out of the house, his face twisted with fury, and now that he thought about it, something that almost looked like fear as well. He'd leaped down the front steps, startling the horse of a dog halfway across the yard as he turned back to face the front door where Caleb, Shep and Dad stood staring in disbelief. Bobby had already gone home to Nebraska by then.

"I already said I get it so get the hell off my back! I forgive you! Alright? Is that what you want to hear? Fine! Now quit with the God damned questions, leave me the hell alone and just drop it!" Dean had yelled, his voice cracking and twisting as it came out and slapped the grown-ups fiercely.

Sam remembered that if he hadn't been a little scared of the hot fury that even he could feel rolling off his brother he might have chuckled at the funny cracking and squeaking that foretold his voice changing.

"Dean!" John had hollered breaking away from the restraining hands of his friends and followed his eldest boy almost to the edge of the little lake. Their voices were inaudible from that distance but even Sam could see that there was some very heated 'discussing' going on. Caleb and Shep joined him on the lawn and all three of them watched as Dean stood leaning toward John, his whole teenage body rigid with tension as he stuck his finger into their dad's face, curled his hand into a fist, said one more thing then stormed away to the far side of the lake where he disappeared into the reeds.

"What'sa matter with Dean?" Sam had asked the grown ups nervously as John, his body in almost exactly the same posture as Dean's had been moved stiltedly back to them, his eyes downcast.

"Dunno kiddo…" Shep said ruffling his hair and followed John back inside with an admonishment, "Stay by the front door Sam, least till your brother gets back or supper, whichever comes first," before the screen door slammed.

"Okay," Sam nodded and called Grindle back to him while picking up a good sized stick and waving it enticingly for the dog.

"Yeah, rough summer," Sam sighed shaking himself out of the memories and frowning as he peered out of the window at the top of the stairs. He had a wonderful view of the entire yard, from the garage, to the barn, to the back of the house itself, and several smaller outbuilding remnants. "Dean!" he hollered as loud as his tortured throat would allow and cocked his head listening intensely for any kind of response, "Well he sure isn't in the house…" his belly flipped, "…unless he's in trouble…Dean!" he shouted again and moved cautiously and quickly from room to room, a nice methodical search of the premises just like he and his brother always did. He checked closets, found the access to the attic and climbed up with equal caution, swinging his flashlight along each joint and wall before ascending all the way into the room and making sure his big brother wasn't laying hurt or even dead somewhere among the rafters. _This bastard's crafty, and cruel… probably moreso than he was even in life… Death sure hasn't slowed it down, but why or how would it know to be back here? Answer: it wouldn't, not as long as it has Carol to torment_, just then he heard Dean's voice in his head from the other night,

"…it leaves her be long enough to recover… likes to do what it does in private…not much difference between the mental processes of a pissed off vengeful spirit and a psychopath…"

A lightbulb seemed to pop on inside Sam's conscious mind and he exhaled sharply while hanging and shaking his head, "He's been up against something like this before…"

"Shhh… he'll hear you…" a tiny voice whispered behind him, sending him spinning in place with his iron baton raised above his head as his light passed through the visage of a little girl in dirty white shorts and a tattered pink t-shirt. She shifted from foot to foot, her filthy gray face downcast as she drifted backwards, away from Sam.

"Wait!" he called lowering the baton, "…wait please… have you seen anyone else here? My brother…"

She shook her head quickly, her eyes flitting from the floor of the attic to Sam's face, "…You brought him back."

"Who? Edward Jacob Simons?" Sam asked.

The ghost of the little girl nodded sheepishly and seemed to skip a bit through either time or space, Sam had never really been to sure on which one it was, _Unless it's both…_ he thought fleetingly.

"Have you seen another man here? One like me maybe? Just a little bit shorter… he came in through the cellar…" Sam asked and noted the rapid flicker of her image as she looked from him back over her shoulder. "You've seen him?" he asked again, fairly certain of it.

She nodded wordlessly, little dirty and tattered blonde pig tails waving beside her face.

"Tell me...?" he almost choked on the words, "…where is he?"

She looked up and tilted her head to the side sadness obvious in its staining of her ghostly features, "…he's gone now…"

Sam gasped sharply then reminded himself ghosts don't think like the living, "What do you mean gone?" he asked feeling his heart pounding and his pulse beating in his throat.

"He's not here anymore…" she nearly whispered.

"Wh..where is he? Please…" Sam pleaded feeling his eyes begin to fill.

The apparition before him seemed to sigh, as if she shouldn't have to tell him, as if he should know, she leaned forward and looked over her left shoulder then over her right as if she was afraid of being overheard. Sam leaned in wanting to grab her and shake Dean's location from her, unfortunately he knew that wouldn't do any good,

"He's in HHHHEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLL!" she shrieked, the terror in her voice unmistakable as her visage burst into tears first, then apart, and swirled away through the floorboards.

--

In his subterranean cell a faint call rolled through the air from some unknown origin and though Dean was too preoccupied to hear it, or to take any comfort in the sound of his brothers voice, there was another present who heard the call and grinned, "Ahhh the sweet one… how tasty a treat for me…" it moaned wrapping one ice-cold, semi-corporeal arm around Dean's shoulders, pressing his head to his chest while his other hand slid into the front of his jacket and sank deep into his shirt, freezing the bare skin beneath and momentarily bringing Dean back to his senses, before it laughed and swirled away, smiling obscenely with its new mission. Dean barked out and pushed, startled and pained as he forced himself back into the corner of the cell in an almost purely reflexive way while he tried to sort out everything that was happening inside his mind; the voices, the faces, the terrifying moments in time that he was remembering for those who had gone before.

--

The eldest Winchester clutched his head in his hands, the voices and images were finally slowing down and his chest felt on fire for some reason. _This is worse than the concussion,_ he thought and groaned as his heart leaped in his burning chest, "Dean!" he heard the unmistakable timbre of Sam's voice call to him through the morass of agonies he'd been accosted with, behind that impossibly heavy scraping sound "Dean help me!"

"Sam! Sammy!" he called shoving himself hard to his feet and pressing his eyes to the small cut in the door as he saw his little brother dragged by an unseen force into the center of the pit where he was thrown face first onto the ground and held immobile somehow while each of his limbs was outstretched and secured to the chains attached to a single stake.

"Sammy! Fight!" he called feeling his voice cracking in his throat.

"Nnngg… trying… can't…pinned…" Sam grunted while Dean saw him struggle against the chains that remained.

Sam's head swung around and managed to find Dean's eyes in the tiny slit in the door, he held onto those eyes and heard his big brother pounding, slamming, the door to his cell, trying anything he could to break free and save his Sam.

"Sammy…" Dean groaned as the back of his brothers' jacket was shredded wide, the hoodie following quickly and somehow, as if out of the very ether that was the ghostly plane of existence, a chain like the kind that kids used to use to secure their bikes to racks materialized in mid strike, the links lashing down with incredible force as one end wrapped around Sam's torso and literally jerked him almost completely onto his side as it whipped upward, preparing for another strike.

Dean felt every fiber of his being focus on smashing the door, breaking it off its hinges, popping the bolts, anything he had to do to get to Sam before another lash fell.

Sam's cry through gritted teeth and subsequent series of gasps struck him like a hot iron and he grimaced as something came across the room and shoved itself into Sam's mouth and the chain raised up again. He felt Sam's eyes grip his through the slit and he couldn't move, he couldn't abandon his brother, those eyes holding on were the only connection he had right now, the only strength and Dean willed Sam all that he would need as the chain ripped through the air, grabbing his torso along a parallel path as the first strike and once more jerking him onto his side.

Fabric ripped, or maybe it was skin, either way, the side of Sam's shirt turned red quickly and Dean felt his throat turn raw as he watched the chain raise up again and yelled with everything he had, "NNNNOOOO!"

His eyes on Sam's he felt his face turn wet as his baby brother grunted, turned his head, and let a sob slide out.

8… soon… please.

Need to know same as previous.

Thanks

sifi


	8. Chapter 8

Reprisals chpt 8

"Don't you touch him! So help me God don't you touch him you son of a bitch!" Dean growled feeling his body clench and steel as some sleeping beast within him strove to waken.

Again, and once more still, the chain struck. Blood vined what was left of Sam's shirt and his green puppy eyes dug deep between his shoulder and his neck, unable to touch his brothers'.

Nails splintered folding back, and angry shafts of wood infested his fingertips. His mouth ran away with him, "What's the matter huh? I'm not good enough for ya? Lemme guess I'm just too much man! You gotta pick on the kids huh? Easy pickin's? Come on take it home to me you son of a bitch! Let's see what you got!" _I swear to God Sammy I won't let it hurt you anymore… I swear I won't…_ he thought, his inner eyes transfixed on the cement sealant gray wall, examining carefully the face of a boy, about eight or nine, on his knees in his tightie-whities, one hand behind his head the other inside his underwear, his back arched in a mimic of what was supposed to be a suggestive pose even as tears zebra striped his face, his expression begged for help that he knew would never come. He'd looked so much like Sam that Dean had almost grabbed the pictures off the wall, he'd almost piled them… but then he'd realized, there was probably a parent somewhere who would need to know what had happened to their child, and the one on the wall wasn't Sam, couldn't ever have been Sam, and by God, never would be Sam so long as Dean lived.

The air stilled. What scant illumination there'd been, enabling Dean to watch the show ceased.

Blind once again was worse than watching his brother beaten, with light he could revenge every blow and balance the scales, in darkness he could only imagine. But what he could imagine…

Obscure sounds; chains rattling, weight on dirt dragged, an odd wheeze or grunt stabbed deep, each sound a shard of crystal tearing through him.

He felt a flicker of cold at his ear, "…he's so sweet…" then on the other side, "…he's crying..." and around again with a chuckle, "…he hates that you brought him here…" and again, "…it's your fault…" in the faintest of whispers.

Dean swallowed hard, turning in place, his hands reaching out in the darkness, trying to catch a corporeal moment, "Dude… you're making me dizzy…come on! …think you're so bad? come on, bring on! Let's see what you got…" he challenged sneering.

Around again, " I know what you keep hidden..." back around yet again, as Dean finally stood still and let it circle him, it chuckled, "I know the secrets that you keep…"

Dean smirked, "Yeah I remember that song too, why don't you join the 21st century huh mullet-boy? There's some pretty decent music out there all things considered…"

He barked and keened sandpaper, startled by the acidic cold that tore across his chest and around his abdomen, a line the width of a single finger that left a trail of hot fluidity behind. He touched himself and stuck his finger into his mouth, the taste of cold was all he recognized.

"Sam? Talk to me Sam!" he called ignoring the laughter beside him.

"He hates you right now…" it taunted, stroking through his clothing, across the small of his back, the obscenity of its touch forcing his hips forward until he had no choice but to clutch at the door, his bleeding fingers grasping on either side of the slit he'd watched his brothers' torment through.

His faith was rewarded with the faintest of grunts and a choking sound that reminded him of a lung full of blood, yeah, he knew that feeling.

"Sammy?" he called again as his body careened forward and his entire spine seemed to contract like an overstretched rubber band with the stripping of another line of cold.

"Dea…" bloody coughing erupted from some other cell in the pit, a groan of agony and a sigh to loose to be completely cognizant sailed through the air.

"Just hang on Sam… I'm gonna get us out…oooaaahhhouch! Hey you freakin' freak!" he shouted startled feeling that same line of icy cruelty slide into his jeans. He turned quickly, planting his back at the door and held his hands out in front of him. He could feel his face scowling, "I thought this was gonna be some kind of torture fest!" he called angrily wondering if ghosts had pride. "Come on! where's the whips and chains _now_ huh!" he challenged wondering in his depths which would truly be worse. _Yeah, whips and chains baby… bring 'em on… I'll definitely take that to the alternative…_ he nodded to himself wondering where and when the next 'moment' would come from.

--

As hours passed in pervasive blackness Dean's alertness faltered. He'd hauled an intelligible grunt from Sam, no more than his name before the sound of deep even, if labored, breathing became part of the rhythm of darkness.

The spirit of Edward J. Simons seemed to be holding off for the time being, perhaps and most likely considering what Dean knew about psychopathy and its associated behaviors, simply milking the circumstances for every ounce of torment it could. If they didn't find a way to act soon, or break free somehow, Dean wasn't sure how long they'd last when all was said and done.

He pulled out his lighter after a period of waiting for something that didn't seem to be coming and decided to risk the fuel for another look around the cell.

_There's gotta be fresh air coming from somewhere or this place would've smelled like a tomb_, he thought moving slowly around the tiny room from bottom to top, watching the little yellow flame intensely, hoping silently for some sign of movement while straining his ears to their limit, listening for perhaps that tell tale whistle, like the one he'd heard in that asylum that spoke of an opening.

With hope fading quickly as time passed he turned his attention to the door.

Ribbons of his own blood adorned the wood and despite the myriad splinters he could feel throbbing within his fingertips he could see no scarring of the wood itself.

He pushed with his shoulder watching the braces and hinges for movement but wasn't sure if what he saw was real or flame-shadow.

He stooped, hoping he'd seen that little motion in the bottom brace and drew in a sharp breath almost slamming his knees to the ground as something jagged bit at his abdomen.

"Damnit!' he gasped pulling his shirt up and looking down. He groaned. Across his belly was a stripe about the width of a finger of white and red raised skin that swung upward and under his t-shirt, exactly the same path that ghost bastard had run its ethereal, evil little finger on him.

"Aww son of a bitch!" he ground out and hiked the shirt up higher. He couldn't believe his eyes. He'd felt the burning sensation but failed to associate it with anything he knew while worrying the darkness about his brother.

A shape that could only be a palm print had blistered over his heart. He couldn't stop himself and poked it. Fluid rushed back to the spot his finger left and for a short time, by the dim yellow flame the activity mesmerized him.

After a few more pokes and a flicker from the lighter he started to feel the flesh burning again with the irritation.

"Brilliant dumbass… first you get us shut up here in the hands of a psycho freaking ghost that makes Momma psycho freak look like goddamned 'Stacey's Mom'… and now you're wasting fuel playing with yourself!" he chided angrily and bent once more to examine the brace.

As he did so the horizontal strip across his belly split open spilling water and blood along his jeans.

"Oooh man!" he gasped infuriated, "I am Sooo gonna salt and burn this son of a bitch!" as the pain multiplied.

_Why is he here Dean? Why isn't he back in Missouri? Why did you need to come here so badly? What did you really hope to gain? Forgiveness? From who?_ the questions circled round his mind as his body rested, his hands blistered and bloody, fingers locked around the loop of the ceiling ring that now rested in them as he lay slumped in the corner, exhausted. Testing the rings had been a stroke of luck, he'd forgotten they were there at all until he tried once more to feel for a chink in the ceiling, something he could use or scrape at to try and get them out of there. He'd slid off the walls and his fingers had brushed the ring during his fall. He'd noticed it wasn't as tight as it could have been and gone to work on it at once.

--

There was weight in his chest, not much but enough to tell him it was there. His whole body was on fire on the outside while it seemed he could feel the movement of the very air within. His throat tickled and he breathed out hard, a wad of something metallic hit his tongue. He tried to spit, even working his tongue hurt. Breathing hurt, his heart beat hurt.

_Dean? I can't feel you… are you there?_ he wondered and tried to breathe deeper. His body wanted to kill him, it was trying to as it rejected his effort to give it more air. His belly clutched at his spine and his throat fought the cough even as his lungs threw blood and flesh into his mouth.

"_Fight Sam… fight it!" _he heard in Dean's voice and could not tell if it came from inside or out. "C..can't...oh God… hurts…" he breathed feeling his eyes sting as his fingers dug into the dirt on the stone floor. In the center of his mind he saw his brothers' eyes, those mint meltaway green eyes fill and spill tears through the crack in the door. He could feel the hate in his brother, the self loathing that seared him. Dean blamed himself for this, for the torture Sam had already experienced, for the breaking of his bones and flesh, and for putting his most prized possession at risk. In that instant Sam felt something he never recalled feeling before.

The scream was out of him before he could identify the sensation. His body was prone, his face pressed into the ground feeling a burning imprint on the up-side as the pressure increased on both his head and body. The outline was clear, the weight was about right and as his ribs ground, his lungs protested and his diaphragm spasmed, he choked, his breath stopping halfway up his throat in shock before racking him with coughs he swore would break more ribs.

"Did 'ja miss me?" he felt blow coldly in his ear as the outer cup burned with what he would have sworn was the stroke of a tongue. "Ahhh sweet young Samuel… oh the ways to play with someone like you…"

Sam felt thunder in his head as his belly shuddered and a burning cold trail wormed its way up the back of what was left of his shirt, tracing the agonized flesh tears made by the chain. His body jerked, arching into the source of the stabbing icicle that penetrated him from the small of his back through to his belly button, his spine bowing, his nerves aflame. The agony of destruction tearing through him as cold, wet, heat slithered around the back of his neck and sunk its teeth into his shoulder from behind.

"Oooh yes… scream for me…" he heard even as Dean's voice penetrated his awareness screaming to leave him alone.

_Dean stop…you're giving it what it wants… and its killing me to get it…_ he thought and wondered where that revelation came from as darkness took him gentle hostage, holding him back from his pain while his big brother suffered alone.

--

"Nnnggghhhaaaaaahh! Nooo! Sammy! Sammy No! Please Stop it! Don't you touch him! Don't you touch him you SonnovaBITCH!" he screamed into the darkness, his body in paroxysm from the first utterance in hours. He'd thought, he'd hoped… he knew he heard Sam say something… he said… 'hurts' "Oh God Sammy! hold on… I'm coming!"

"Are you now?" cold spoke at his ear and he swung with everything he had, cutting across its ephemeral countenance with the arrow shaped anchor of the ceiling ring.

The face of Edward J. Simons recoiled and sneered then dove forward, its hand grasping his throat, squeezing furiously as it pressed him against the wall, cutting his air off entirely simply because it desired it. There was more at stake here than either of these boys could ever imagine and there was no way Eddy Jay was going to bypass this opportunity…

It pressed the air out of Dean by the throat, raising liquid nitrogen blisters into the deep layers of his skin, not just settling for the surface this time, and closed the space between them. _This pissant little mortal thinks it knows pain? I have worlds to teach you boy and I don't have to go far for the materials…_ Nodding to itself it pinned Dean with its eyes and took a step closer. Nose to nose, chest to chest, and hips to hips, the spirit that was once Edward Jacob Simons forced its way into the body that lived.

--

"Dean…?" Sam grunted from his cell across the pit, the absence of pain a blessing he found it hard to take at face value.

He'd heard his brother scream, protesting Sam's pain, and Sam heard something else, a promise of torment in return. _Dean hurt it… he's on to something… yaaay Dean… do it brother… if anyone can… you can… I believe in you…_ he tried to smile but tilting the corners of his mouth hurt so he decided he'd do it later. Dean was going to kick this things ass and Sam was going to be once more beholden, but he didn't care. Dean was always there for him and always would be, some things in life were constant.

--

The path to darkness is seldom trodden with uncompromising knowledge. Possibly it was Confucious who said "The journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step," what was never specified was whether that journey was toward enlightenment or darkness, but as all the wise, from the learned, to the babes fresh into this world, the educated and the ignorant; light or dark, either one is a simple choice with countless rungs along the way to lead from one path to the other and back again. Evil is the chosen refusal to see that there is any other way.

--

_Feel me inside of you…feel my bliss_… the words echoed in his head as his arm slashed violently at the empty air before him. His eyes watered and reddened and his face torqued in denial, fighting the mélange of emotions as they rose of their own accord.

"Nnnooo! Nnuh… nuho!" he grunted. The ceiling ring fell to the ground ringing out a bell-ish sound. His hands pressed to his temples, his knees faltered, his fingers drilled into his ears to shut out the crying but sealed it inside instead. His heart beat like a thoroughbred and his breath stormed. His muscles clenched and his teeth cut through layers of the inside of his mouth.

Their cries, their pleading, their promises not to tell came to him, filled him and made his belly jump with glee. A handful of dozens of faces that belonged here, that had died here, and several handfuls more that had died in a small unkempt hovel in Lakeview Oregon passed through him. Their cries filled his ears, their tears fed him and as the hours of screaming torment passed, while night gave way to morning in the world outside he began to feed, first with reluctance, and slowly as the plate of anguish found itself endlessly full before him, eventually with abandon.

Please…

You know what I'm asking for.

Visceral reactions? Yes, No? enough? not?

Thanks.

sifi


	9. Chapter 9

Reprisals chpt 9

He laughed stepping out of the young man on the floor. Joy tickled him while he watched the oldest brothers eyes grow wide, and his smile broadened in anticipation of what was to come. He'd shown him the children one by one, fed him on the delight he took the first time he felt real power. He was fourteen, his sister was eight. He remembered the masterful feeling he had as he pinned her down, his hand clasping over her mouth, the glassy fear and salty tears he tasted on her cheeks as he grasped her pants and pulled them down with his free hand.

But most of all he remembered the encompassing satisfaction when he was done and she was ruined, unmade as a person and re-forged by him, a vacuous mask of defeat. For eight years he kept her on his leash even as he added more pets to his personal zoo, and when she had nothing left for him to take, he scraped her from his shoe and left her to rot.

Eddy Jay knew he'd be able to get inside the older brother, but the young one was a different story, the young one could throw everything off. He'd tried back in Missouri when they first came to the house, to get into the young one's head but he hadn't been able to. The older one would've made for some wonderful chuckles, suffering at the hands of the baby brother, but it was not to be. Still his end goal could be achieved through decimation of the elder, floodgates would open around the baby and with his defenses down havoc could then be wrought. _I have all the time in the world to make my case...and now, with the elder in my grasp I will be measured well_ he assured himself and felt a warm wind at his ethereal side. They were back. Nodding and grinning as he watched the elder fight a battle he would surely lose, he went off to chase away those who tormented him and would spoil his fun if given a chance.

--

_nine hundred eighty-seven pictures, sixty one different faces, twelve burned… nine hundred eighty-seven pictures, sixty one different faces, twelve burned…nine hundred eighty-seven pictures, sixty one different faces, twelve burned… never, Never, NEVER…three types of wrong…everyone else is fair game… NEVER… Aaron Mitchell Beyers, Edward Jacob Simons, John Wayne Gacy… '…each time he falls he shall rise again and woe to the wicked!...', salt and burn…I have to get Sammy out of here, but I can't do that…_

He groaned and clutched his head finally feeling alone inside once more and immeasurably grateful for it. So much slid into place as he examined the image in his head, he knew why Eddy Jay was here, he knew Carol Guinardi/Karen Adams was dead. His hands burned as if he'd been the one severing her neck with the cord from her monitor. He felt the jets of hot arterial blood splash across his face and smiled while bathing in its warmth.

_Ooh God please… I gotta get us out of here…I'm scared…please let me get us out of here! At least let me get Sammy out…please…_he prayed revolted by the pleasure he took in watching the light fade from the woman's eyes. He knew the pleasure did not originate within himself but that he could feel it made his fingers shake.

He didn't know where Eddy Jay was, and he didn't care as long as it wasn't inside him, trying to violate his mind, or hurting Sam. Dean's body shuddered and he felt around for the ring. Once he had a grip on it, he rose to his knees and though his agonized hands screamed in protest began to hammer at the wood just above the lower iron brace, each time an image of one of Edward's atrocities flashed in his mind he hammered just a little harder. His hands grew slick first and then sticky as the blisters on them burst but the pain was nothing he couldn't handle. He had a job to do and nothing was going to stop him.

--

Sam felt his mouth tilt and this time it didn't even hurt. His fingers twined through strands of silk while gossamer caressed his lips. She held his head in her hands, her own fingers in his hair as her thumbs traced his jaw line. He groaned from the pit of his belly, feeling those sparklers ignite inside his body and mind as she took his bottom lip between hers and gave a playful tug before tasting him more deeply.

Dark cottony softness enveloped him and he felt himself fall within her arms. Her warmth pressed against him in all the right places as she laid him down gently on the ground beneath Metallicar's rear bumper, he didn't really mind. He wouldn't mind anything if that kiss could just keep going on. He felt warm wind blow into his ear as her teeth playfully nipped his lobe. He broke into happy little goosebumps with that teasing breeze and shuddered as she spoke.

"Dean!" he barked as sharply as his wounded body would allow, the only reason he knew his eyes were open was because he'd felt them snap open.

"Sam? Sammy! Are you okay?" Dean called feeling his heart race against his rib cage.

"Uh… not really but… enough… where is it?" he asked slowly forcing himself onto all fours, each movement a tiny slice of personal hell.

"Oooh man! You don't know how glad I am to hear your voice!" Dean grinned and almost allowed himself to think they just might get out of this somehow.

"I don't know… it took off… it sensed something, something it didn't like being around…" he called realizing he knew a lot more about Eddy Jay than he thought.

His mouth twisted coldly as he continued hammering at the brace, almost able to slide the ring anchor behind it and maybe pry it loose.

"That would probably be the other spirits…"

"Other spirits?" Dean asked.

"At least one that I saw… a little girl… I'd guess there are more of them…"

"What his victims?" Dean asked and felt the arrow point of the anchor lodge behind the band. "Ah ha!" he barked almost ready to leap out of his skin with the shaft of hope that sliced through the darkness inside his mind.

"I think so… aha what?" Sam asked resting on his heels with his hands on his knees, trying to choke back a cough he feared would send him back onto his face.

"Do you think they can… or will help us?" Dean asked frowning as the skin scraped off his knuckles against the wood while he shimmied the ring back and forth, working everything he had to try and lever that band off.

"Doubt it… they're still terrified…"

"They're dead!"

"Yeah… he killed them…remember? Dean, this thing's powerful…"

"Heh, tell me about it…"

"What?"

"I said I know…"

"How do we…?" Sam started to ask, his voice flat.

"I've been thinking about that… how many exorcisms have we done?" Dean asked.

"Couple dozen…"

"How's that memory of yours workin?"

"Dean it almost killed us in the house when we tried to exorcise it…" Sam protested around a bit of lung that came into his mouth. He spat loosely and grabbed the wall uncertain if he was going fall or throw up. His stomach clenched in morse code and his mouth felt hot and metallic.

"I know but its not like we have a lot of choice here… It killed Carol, that's why it's focusing on us, that's why it's here instead of back in Missouri waiting for her to recover, she's dead and he did it…"

"What? How can you know that?" Sam asked, his skepticism obvious in his tone.

Dean stopped for a second and took a breath, _No, Sam's got enough to worry about, not that he's going to worry about me but… we need to work together to do this…and it's not going to work if I tell him…that thing was...was… mind-frakkin' me. _

"Older brother Sam… huh…? anyway, I just do…there's something…" he started and sighed, "It wants something…"

"Yeah, to torture us to death…" Sam groaned rolling forward as far as he could to try and take the pressure off his back. It also helped keep him from jarring too much as the blood flowed up into his mouth with its spongy little accompanying pieces.

"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly. Time was slipping away, he had no idea how long they'd been down there, no idea how bad his brother was, but by the sound of things on the other side of the pit, he wasn't going to last indefinitely without medical help.

A grunt of his own pain slid out as another layer of skin came off his hands but beneath the ring he could feel the brace bending or the wood giving… something was happening. He slid his forearm between the ring and the door and lay his weight on it, bearing down, as seconds ticked desperately by inside.

"Ye..yeah… t'sokay… Dean…" his voice trembled along with his breath, "…I don't think I can take being thrown around any more…"

Dean stopped, Sam's words ringing in his head, "Gaah…That good huh?" he breathed to himself and swallowed hard, _Look at what you've done! You're killing your brother! This is all my fault… God Sammy I'm sorry… I'll get us out of here I swear…I swear to God I will._

"_They need to be confined to be killed… there are limits even they must obey…"_ Sam heard in his head and forced himself to straighten up a bit as an idea began to flicker in orange neon in his head. _That's what I was trying to remember!_ he smiled faintly.

"Yeah…listen…remember the phantom traveler?" Sam wheezed and lowered himself to his side on the floor. He couldn't even entertain the idea of standing right now.

"Yeah?" Dean asked and nearly fell onto his face as something, either the ring or the brace snapped. "Oh man… oh man please… a little luck here…" he gasped desperately not even feeling the shank of flattened iron within the muscle of his forearm until he realized it had snagged him. "Oh crap… oh damn…" he grunted feeling a stream of blood running over his left hand as he checked the wound by feel. "Oh man…"

"What? Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked, his voice stronger and more clear so long as his body was at rest.

Dean gulped hard and slid his jacket off then felt around in his pockets for the bandana he kept. _Thank God for the boy scouts… oh wait! I mean the Marines… never mind._ he thought and began to chuckle as he worked a quick slip knot into the piece of cloth then carefully made sure to fold the flaps of skin together before cinching it snugly around and hoping it would be enough. _Please don't let me have hit something important… course if I die here I can come back and help Sammy…so that might not be a bad thing, then I can kick that S.O.B.'s sadistic ass all over the astral plane! Yeah, that might not be so bad after all… _His chuckles grew and began to roll uncontrollably from his chest as he leaned back for a minute, holding his forearm tightly and fought the torrent within.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted and began to cough.

"Aaah, yeah… aahh I kill me… eeh heh… yeah… okay… I think I'm done now…" Dean forced the giggles away. "Okay… the phantom traveler… what about it?" he asked.

"The ritual…" Sam breathed softly, his brows furrowing. He could feel it inside, there was something wrong with Dean, something more than the circumstances, something even more than the anger he was directing into himself for getting them here in the first place. There was pain he could feel at the edge of his senses, something old and deep and secret that was chewing his brother up in tiny increments. But still, there was more, something newer and fully engaged in battle with that old 'wrong', something that felt like silver in the darkness, shiny and brilliant and sharp. Sam let his head fall back, he couldn't think about it right now… he could barely spare the energy to begin to visualize the page in dad's journal that had the ritual printed in it.

"What the two-parter?" Dean asked, incredulous at first then remembering, the first part of the ritual, though making the spirit stronger would also make it manifest, "If it's corporeal we can kill it… okay, that'll work, but you're gonna have to hold on Sammy… you're gonna have to give me a …" he leaned back onto his elbows and kicked at the door with all his might. He felt the wood vibrate, felt it quake on its upper hinge and if Sam had been in the same cell with him, he would've hugged him for as long as he could take it! "…chance…" he kicked again and felt it move even more freely, "…to get…" again, "… this freakin' door down…" he kicked again and fell back breathless.

"…'kay…" Sam groaned and let himself rest, his mind drifting as the rhythm of Dean's kicking seemed to lull him.

"Sammy! stay with me here! Come on little brother stay with me!" Dean urged feeling his heart sink with Sam's fading voice.

"…seven pictures…sixty-one different faces…twelve burned…" he heard and felt his blood run cold.

"Sam! Sammy! What are you saying?" he demanded.

Sam sighed, letting his pains slip way while he floated in semi-consciousness, "nine hundred eighty-seven pictures, sixty one different faces, twelve…" he muttered.

"Stop it! Don't you say that! You hear me Sam! Don't you say that!" Dean hollered furiously and kicked frantically at the door, his determination renewed. Sam should never know those numbers, no one should ever know those numbers besides him.

"Hmm? Wha?..." Sam groaned returning from his half state.

"The ritual Sam… think about the ritual do you remember it?" Dean re-directed his little brothers' thoughts.

"Hmmm? Uh… okay… I think I got it all… just lemme go over it a couple times in my head alright?"

"Fine, you do that," Dean nodded and muttered to himself, "…just don't ever say those numbers again…"

It was impossible to say how much longer they sat there, each man working on his own project before the sound of metal wrenching and wood screaming rent the black around them and exhausted as he was Dean could not scramble out of the way fast enough so lay flat on his back with his arms up just as the impossibly heavy door fell onto him, swinging on the top hinge so the opposite corner slammed hard into his hip bone enough to make him "Ghuuuaaah!" in pain.

His body shook with relief and he thought he could feel the giggles wanting to set in again as he moved forward almost unwilling to believe he'd finally won freedom.

"Sam! Sammy wake up!" he called stepping out into the open area of the pit and spinning the wheel of his lighter once more. To the right lay his gun, exactly where he'd lost it when Eddy Jay 'jumped' him. "Oh baby! There you are!" he grinned sliding the cool comforting steel into the back of his jeans only to yelp as the skin tore back there too.

"I am so gonna KILL you!" he hollered and tucked the gun into his jacket pocket instead and quickly found the only other closed cell door. The latch was a slide across type and with the simple flick of his wrist he opened the door. Sam lay on his side, his eyes closed, the floor around him red as the remnants of his shirt but the last thing Dean could bring himself to do was to step into the cell.

"Sammy! Come on… come on little brother…" he urged reaching in as Sam awoke and looked at him, his good hand reaching for Dean's just as the lighter died and the sound of rolling thunder cascaded through the pit, bouncing off the walls.

Dean felt fingers in his hand, as the dirt and salt burned shockwaves up his arm and into his brain. He could feel Sam rise to his knees and wobble to his feet. He stumbled over the threshold and gave himself to Dean's steady embrace as that shearing heaviness called from down the corridor and once more the faintest light returned their sight.

"Dean…" Sam gasped, his one good hand and bad arm clutching at his brothers shoulders as his eyes sought the strength he was always so willing to give. What he saw brought the shivers to him as he grimaced and pushed himself away landing hard on the floor, no longer caring. If this could be, then it was probable that all hope was lost. Without Dean, he knew he couldn't do it alone.

"Nuh…" he shook his head back pedaling in the dirt.

"Do it… remember… no deaders though…" whispered the somehow more solid form of Eddy Jay.

"No deaders…" Dean nodded cocking a half smile Sam knew well. His eyes never left Sam as he raised the gun, sighting along the barrel, pointing to various places on his brother's body where non-lethal shots could be fired, and which ones would cause the most pain

"Dean… you gotta fight him..." Sam's voice caught in his throat.

His big brother sneered and loosed a chuckle, "Why?"

---

Special props to Beist and Kat... once more their encouragement served to encourage me to stick this up tonight cause well they said so.

Still and all... I feel like this one has faltered a bit, like it's not quite as 'stand on its own' as the others y'know?

Soo... help, please.

Thanks

sifi


	10. Chapter 10

Reprisals chpt 10

The ethereal cold from Eddy Jay's hand on the center of his back did not burn in the same way as the places he'd touched his flesh. Whether it was because the spirit did not currently desire to hurt him, or because it wasn't in direct contact with his skin he did not know, nor did he care really. _Long as we don't end up in one of those cells again…_ Dean thought and let the gun tremble in his hand. He licked his lips and grimaced then gave his brother the smallest of signals before turning his head to look into the wolfish features of their tormentor. _Come on Sammy get the hint man… come on! _he thought desperately, "I… I don't…"

"I said do it!" Eddy Jay sneered into his face, his countenance seeming to become less translucent even in the scant light.

Dean held the spirits eyes, noting in the periphery of his vision that Sam had finally got the hint and begun to chant almost inaudibly. The scowl that flashed and the fury that followed as their tormentor realized what was happening was a heart stopping instance even for a hunter as practiced as Dean who stood back and fired a trio of consecrated iron rounds into the less transient evil.

"You arrogant fool!" Eddy Jay snarled despite stumbling back a few steps with the rounds.

Sammy's chanting gained volume as Dean stood over him, _Stay down Sammy…you'll be safer…_waiting for this malevolence to manifest back into the world so he could kill it.

Dean shook his head and felt Sam's good hand grab the waistband of his jeans.

The pressure across his slashed abdomen bit sharply, as his little brother pulled himself to his feet while reciting the Latin passages with increasing strength and clarity.

The semi-corporeal entity that was Eddy Jay lurched at Dean who, with Sammy clinging to his back unsteadily couldn't move as freely as he liked. He squeezed off two more rounds; _thirteen, twelve…_he counted down and exploded a guttural sound of anguish as he felt the fabric of his shirt tear then beneath that, the burning of the palm sized blister in the center of his chest as it was ripped through, and beneath that another layer of skin and raw exposed nerve was sheared. Wet rolled down his chest and belly, catching once more in the waistband of denim before sliding even further to come to rest in the cotton of his boxers. _Oh man… that hurts like a mudda!_ he ground out inside his head, wrapping his left arm around his own back and pulled Sammy close to him willing him to know enough to _Stay close to me Sammy… I swear I'll protect you… I got you into this, I'm gonna get you out so help me God!_

Sam's clear tenor rang in his ears and Latin had never sounded so melodic as Dean moved them as a unit out of Eddy Jay's reach. Maneuvering them around so their backs were at the tunnel Dean kept his eyes on the psycho in front of them. There was something changing and it had him kind of mesmerized. He couldn't say whether the ritual was working as they'd hoped or not nor was he suddenly sure that what he was looking at was a good thing.

As he backed them away Eddy Jay became corporeal, just like they'd hoped and intended, but he didn't seem to be averse to the alteration in his ethereal status. In fact, he kinda looked like he was smiling and maybe more than a little happy about it.

A knowing look passed between the manifesting personage and the eldest Winchester boy and Dean's head tilted to the side. _Did I just see…?… no, that's not possible! That doesn't happen… can it happen?... I never heard of it happening… shit! What have we done?_ his heart beating at a clip that made Metallicar's chop sound slow.

"Sammy stop!" he urged choking down the panic.

"What? Why?" Sam asked.

He squeezed the trigger, _Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven… stop! It's not helping… consecrated iron rounds aren't working! They're not killing it…does seem to be slowing him a bit… still, don't waste the ammo! Sam… run… oh crap… _"Run…" he ordered willing his baby brother to find the strength somewhere to do as he said.

Grinning as they ran down the passageway to the cellar the freshly re-embodied Eddy Jay strolled nonchalantly after them, his unbeating heart full of satisfaction. He was going to have so much more fun with them now that he had a body again.

--

They emerged from the cellar into early dusk, bloody, wounded, confused and with many miles yet to go. Orientation came quickly to Dean in particular who had a knack for direction and moved his agonizingly battered brother firmly in the right direction to take them through the woods and back to the campground where Metallicar was waiting patiently for them.

Sam forged ahead barely aware of anything other than his body demanding he stop. Adrenaline seemed to work in his favor though and given the circumstances, he was grateful for every second he was able to go without feeling bits of spongy lung pop into his throat and mouth. The coppery taste that the chunks came with had subsided he noticed and he realized that whatever part of his lung that had been shaved or torn by his broken rib had at least stopped bleeding. _I hope,_ he thought and realized that he could breathe a little more fully. His clodhopper caught on some thick undergrowth and sent him careening into the bole of a tree where he leaned gasping, barely able to support himself.

"Come on Sam! You can do this!" Dean prodded glancing over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around his little brother to help him as best as possible, "I don't think he's following us… maybe he got what he wanted… maybe he can't… Damnit! What the hell did we do?"

"Huh?" Sam breathed, his eyes were at half mast and he appeared to be on the verge of consciousness until Dean grabbed his chin then slapped him gently.

"Sam! Come on! Work with me here! Stay with me… I promise I'll let you rest once we get to the car… come on!" he choked barely able to resist the sting in his eyes. _How did I screw this up so bad? How? How did I get us into this? Please don't let Sam be the one to pay for my… for my… please…_

Sam nodded lethargically against him and pushed with his legs. His eyes saw Dean's fill up so he closed them and let his big brother lead him knowing he was in the best possible hands. _Don't Dean…it's not your fault, could've happened anywhere…he caught our scent in Missouri… don't blame yourself okay? Really… you've said… it's a dangerous gig… we both know the risks okay? So don't cry man… I don't think I can carry your pain right now okay, I think it might be too much for me okay especially right now? Why does this hurt you so much? I'm sorry you hurt…really…_

--

True to his word Dean wrestled Sam into Metallicar's back seat, went to the trunk and seconds later covered him with a blanket they kept for emergencies. Sam's eyes cracked open as he rolled onto his least damaged side and exploded into a series of coughs that brought up what medical personnel would call 'coffee grounds' which were in fact the remnants of dried blood. At the back door, once Sam was situated and the coughing had subsided Dean knelt and ran his hand from his brothers' slightly fevered brow over his head. "Hey…I'm not going to leave you alone Sam… it means you're going to have to wait a bit before I can get you to a hospital but I'm gonna salt and burn this son of a bitch asap… I'm not leaving anything to chance okay?" he explained and pressed his lips tight together.

_He's holding something back…_Sam nodded, "Dean… what did we do wrong?... what happened back there?" he asked breathlessly.

Dean breathed deep, "I don't know for sure yet… but don't worry I've got a better plan this time…"

Sam smiled feeling his eyes close, "It was a good plan… look like hell…" he muttered before losing the battle against unconsciousness.

"Look who's talkin…" Dean shook his head, his lips still pressed tightly, remorse splintering into him, a deepening irritant as he continued to fight tears that seemed determined to be unleashed. He smoothed Sam's hair and pressed his forehead to his baby brothers head while he tried to collect himself.

_Lots left to do… please let me be right… please let this be enough…_he begged the powers that be as he stood at the trunk of the car, the magazine for his .9mm in hand as he loaded it completely from one box then slid it into its appropriate groove in the weapons box Tiny built for them. His eyes fell on another box of shells he pulled out and opened up. There were sixty shells in it, enough for four full clips if need be. They were at war after all.

The scent of sandalwood wafted into the back of his nose and mixed with dried sweet-grass that lined the box as he loaded a spare clip with the custom bullets and made himself ready.

--

The gun rested in his jacket pocket and his body was far beyond screaming or protesting almost anything. When he'd stopped at a gas station to fill up, and for some microwave bean burritos and water he'd caught sight of the date on a local paper and realized they'd been two solid days' prisoner beneath the earth. He woke Sam just long enough to force him to drink from a squeeze bottle and forced himself to stop after downing half a bottle in two gulps. _No sense in making myself hurl…_ so he paced himself as he drove them into the cemetery and drove slowly, shining the spotlight on every nearby grave marker he could find. He didn't want to leave Sam alone until he absolutely had to and he didn't want to wake him just yet either.

He shook his head returning to the entrance of the graveyard, _Y'know Dean this has really been one big fat crap-ass week! Ranks right up there with that whole damned rawhead thing…okay but maybe not as bad as those first couple months after the truck… I missed you girl! _he stroked the dash affectionately and turned to look in the back seat.

"Sam… come on Sam… I need you…" he urged rolling him back just a bit until his eyes opened and seemed to focus.

"Wha?"

_I think this is about the best thing I've ever tasted!_ Sam purred while chewing the cold burrito and chasing its doughy goodness down with his room temperature water. He kept his eyes moving, scanning every shadow or twitching leaf for signs of Edward Jacob Simons while Dean looked for his grave. The going was slow but around ten thirty they finally found the grave.

Dean put the car into park and opened the door as did Sam, "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Uhhh getting shovels…"

"You got lookout duty bro… try and dig a grave and it'll probably wind up being your own…"

Sam just looked at him, true enough he couldn't have done it on his own but he could certainly help.

"No… keep your eyes open…" Dean shook his head.

"Dean you're not exactly in the best shape of your life either…"

"Just…" Dean sighed meeting Sam's eyes, "stay… please…and don't hesitate to use the gun if you have to…"

Sam's curiosity and instant softening was a reward to Dean, he knew what the word 'please' did to Sam. "I won't," Sam assured him as he got out of the car, pulled the necessities out of the trunk then leaned into the driver door window with a smirk.

"You get to dig the next one…"

Sam smiled and nodded, "Deal."

--

As he dug, Dean's mind raced at 240, self recrimination waltzing intricately with uncertainty of several different stripes, and concern about Sam.

_That son of a bitch got in my head…why would it do that? Why would it want me to hurt Sam? and shouldn't it have known once it was inside that I could never hurt him? What was it after? Did I really see what I think I saw? Was that what it was after? Is that why it came after us? Is that why it said 'no deaders'? Will these bullets work if the consecrated rounds didn't? They've never been tested before… never had an opportunity, but man I didn't want it to be like this… did I say the numbers out loud? Is that how Sam picked 'em up? or are his efforts paying off and pretty soon I won't be able to keep any thoughts from him? What if he starts hearing people's thoughts and can't stop? God everything is falling apart…Why didn't I leave him in Missouri and just come and handle this myself? Damn am I dumb! He's everything that's good in my life… well the biggest of everything that's good and stable and… "Dean…you can't second guess yourself, you have wonderful instincts… you just really need to learn to trust yourself…"_ he remembered Laura telling him when they'd talked on the phone a few weeks ago and he'd voiced an insecurity. _She's so positive… I wish I could feel that kind of certainty. What if it left something inside of me? Some evil seed or something like that slow growing Demon that infiltrated Sammy so slowly between Bull City Arizona and that last trip to Bobby's, what if I wind up hurting him? I couldn't live with myself…Hey genius stick to the task at hand…_his sub conscious mind ordered noticing he'd stopped digging and was lost in thought, leaning on the shovel, his throbbing hands bleeding through the gauze. Even his fingertips ached and he wondered if a good manicurist would be able to pull the splinters without making him want to kill. _I could just dip my fingers into some Elmer's glue and have Sam do it… _The image of Sam holding his hand and filing his nails at one of those professional carts came to mind replete with him soaking his opposite hand in some warm soapy water, and he chuckled allowing himself to go so far as to imagine Sam wearing a pair of red cat's eye shaped glasses with rhinestones glistening at the temples as he snapped a piece of gum and chattered with a New York accent. He felt his face split into a huge grin and he began to shovel again.

_Aaahhh I kill me… thanks Sam… _he thought momentarily able to quiet the wounds within. Reckoning would come soon enough.

--

As Dean layered the contents of a 50 pound bag of rock salt onto the skeleton of Edward Jacob Simons both of the boys became somber. Their senses straining into the night, every breeze or rustle slicing into them, neither of them able to believe there could be any adrenaline left in their bodies and yet there it was, pounding their hearts and racing their blood.

Both of their bodies humming with tension filled the air, stilling the nocturnal living things in the graveyard as Dean soaked the body with five gallons of gasoline, he stood at the foot of the grave, his fingers trembling. _I aint' takin' any chances with you buddy, once I know you're gone there ain't no way you're coming back EVER…there isn't gonna be a single freakin amino acid in here for you to use to come back again! _Then softly in his mind he heard, _I wonder where he's planning on popping up… I know he's not done yet, I can feel it! _He looked around, struck the match and threw it into the hole, _When I'm done with Eddy Jay…Watch out Aaron Mitchell… I'm coming for you next._

They sat in Metallicar or stood at the graveside until around four a.m. when naught but ash remained. Slowly, tension leeched from them each and Dean could barely re-fill half the grave before simply giving up. Calling it 'Done Enough' he drove wearily back into the night. He sheathed Metallicar in a visitors spot in the emergency room parking area; entered, grabbed a wheelchair, wrestled Sam into it and pushed him into the building where he stood wobbling, holding onto the handles for stability while he pulled out his wallet, grabbed the matching credit card and i.d. he'd put into it back in Missouri. He stepped around the chair toward the intake clerk's desk and promptly collapsed.

Please and Thanks…

I know this one's a little slow but… it's necessary.

sifi


	11. Chapter 11

Reprisals chpt 11

Dean rolled wearily onto his side, _When did I fall asleep?_ and looked around. In all honesty he wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not, the black was so pervasive, so all consuming he wondered if there really was light after death. (Even now, he still didn't remember if he'd seen anything after the truck hit them, but then Laura had intervened too so maybe that threw things off). _Maybe I'm just gonna go straight to hell and in hell there is no light…_he felt his body sigh and the blister skin shift with the movement making him wince. _Damn that was a nice dream… fresh air, the feel of the accelerator under my foot, Sammy safe in the back seat… I never thought I'd be able to appreciate the smell of antiseptic…funny I knew exactly where the hospital was, or maybe my baby just knew we needed one again. Hmmm_ he mused feeling his lips curl at the idea. _Every part of my body hurts… what's the point, we're never getting out of here, I'm sorry Sammy, I never meant to get you killed, I never meant to fail you…Dad, good luck out there…I love you both, _he rolled back to his other side, onto the hip that didn't hurt so bad and tucked his hands up under his head sensing sleep at the periphery of his awareness. She was just waiting for him to relax enough so she could take him back to the outside world where even she knew he belonged.

A cool breeze blew gently into his face propelled by the scent of filth and decay, and just behind that, the scent of stale b.o. and unwashed cigarette mouth. He felt his eyes open and he felt them bulge staring out into the blackness to try and see them, he knew they were there.

"I was always partial to a cool breeze myself…"

"Nuuh!" burst out of him, his balls shrank back, and as he swung his arm, trying to find the source of the voice in the darkness, his arm snagged and chains clinked. "No! No Freakin' Way! This is NOT happening!" he yelled pulling hard against the chains, grasping them with both hands, pressing his feet against the wall and pulling with all his might, frantic with futility. A whimper rolled unasked for from him and it was dragging a sob behind as he fell onto his back.

Cold rolling thunder at the far rear of the cell mocked him as solid weight straddled his legs and clammy fingers grasped his t-shirt, the tips of the fingers popping through the cotton, then he felt it tear and try as he might to slap those hands away it was no use, his chains didn't let him reach that far and the weight holding him down wouldn't budge.

"Please stop…" he whispered feeling the tears come no matter how hard he tried to stuff them down deep, feeling the helplessness he thought he'd escaped. _I never escaped it… just postponed it… I should've known better… every action… consequences… I killed a man…I left him dying with a shank of bone in his brain and a cut off blood supply…he was a monster! he raped and tortured and killed children! Don't you dare have a regret! He deserved the slow death… you don't know how lucky you were dad taught you everything he did… that he knew about the evils out there, that…_ _any of them would have believed me if I'd ever told them…they would have congratulated me for it, but…that's not something to be congratulated for! And… and they would have looked at me different, part of them never would have believed I killed him before… before he could… _

"Please…" he breathed feeling wet, sticky and slimy mashing over his chest and abdomen.

"Oooh momma's little boy has grown so big and strong… sooo lovely…" whispered the darkness and Dean felt a tongue spreading burning blistering fire over the track Eddy Jay's finger and palm had made.

"…stop…" shuddered into the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lips on the inside to hold back whatever anguish would fuel this sadist's fire. In the dark it couldn't see either but if he could hold back his torment… he might be able to…

"Dean? Dean what's wrong?" Sam's voice called hoarsely from across the pit.

"Sam…" he choked feeling cold serpentine fingers moving over his chest, "… Sammy I'm sorry…"

"Dean… what's going on? What's wrong? Talk to me…" his little brother choked and coughed, almost sounding a little better.

Icy, burning cold wetness seared the exposed nerves under the palm sized torn blister and he screamed, his hands flailing as much as they could despite the restraining hands that grasped at them.

"Come ON! DEAN!" Sam's voice broke into his head.

"Lemme goh hoh!" his voice shook with sobs. His body nearly convulsed and his eyes flew through the light wondering if it was really real, if Sam, leaning over him with that mix of fear, curiosity and concern on his face, pinning his arms down was truly there.

Sam's heart was racing and his breath, short and harsh in his slowly recovering chest made him a little dizzy. He'd awoken about ten hours ago to find Dean feverish, tossing and moaning in the bed beside his.

_After what we've been through I'd expect anyone to have a few nightmares but this is different…it started with this case but… wow I have NEVER seen him have a nightmare like THIS, NEVER…Dean I'm worried about you, what's going on behind that wall of yours?_ he wondered and pressed his left hand to Dean's face while trying to digest the stark terror he'd just caught a glimpse of.

Sam wouldn't have said he could get much more concerned, or for that matter, Completely Freaked Out than he currently was, until Dean's arm wrapped around his neck and squeezed him hard against his chest, his entire body trembling more than a late October leaf still clinging to its tree. He felt Dean's breath hitch hard a few times, felt him swallow hard a couple of times, then felt him give himself to the embrace completely before the wall came back up and whatever torment he kept behind it was kenneled out of sight once more.

"You okay now?" Sam asked sitting down on the bed and examining his brother's mask. It wasn't quite situated perfectly on his face but…aaahp… cocky smile….yep, that set the mask right.

"Yeah Francis," he sniffed, "Dean all better now…guess a hug really does have the power to heal…" he grunted softly and cocked his head and eyebrow at Sam, "You're giving me the _bug_ look again… it was just a nightmare Sam… we were still down there that's all…"

"I didn't ask," Sam smiled softly.

Dean huffed, "Big brother… I know things remember? … so… how long?" he asked looking out the window at the green gold sunshine against the next building over and wondering how long it would be before he could feel that color inside him again.

"Day and a half…" he nodded and shook his head grasping Dean's eyes and keeping them connected to his, "We did salt and burn didn't we?" he asked barely sure.

"If this isn't a dream then yeah, we did…" Dean nodded pushing himself all the way up and pouring a glass of water. It was then that he noticed the I.V. tubing sticking out of his arm. "We were down there for two days… little dehydrated I guess huh?"

"I guess," Sam nodded.

"Where's yours?"

"I was a good boy and finished mine this morning. They said since I was awake I could drink my hydration like a normal person… you… just don't look down…" he smirked and watched Dean's face crumple.

"They didn't…"

"Mmm hmmm," Sam nodded smirking.

"You're the one with broken stuff!..." he protested lifting the blanket and looking down. "Man! I hate these things!... they chafe…"

"I'll take a walk down the hall if you wanna take it out…" Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed and leaned back, "Ahh to hell with it…it's already in there… and it saves me from having to get out of bed."

"Kind of an inconvenient convenience?" Sam asked unable to resist and hung his head chuckling. He cast a glance at Dean who was propped comfortably against no less than three, possibly four pillows, his water in one hand and the other behind his head trying to suppress that damned silly smile of his that never failed to make Sam laugh out loud. This moment was no exception. In seconds they were laughing, clutching at their bellies though neither of them had any clue what could possibly be so funny besides the absurdity of the situation in general.

They managed to finally get their gales under control as Sam's protesting lungs and two broken ribs started a coughing fit that almost scared them both. Once it was certain he'd settled down and wasn't going to rupture something they choked a few more chuckles and snickers out and finally seemed to be able to get down to the business of resting a bit.

Dean explained what he thought he saw in the darkness and though Sam didn't know if it was possible or not, at least not off the top of his head, they decided to play it safe and sleep in shifts. Since Dean had just woken up and was in far less serious condition despite the heavily gauzed and stockinged tear in his forearm and the oozing skin tears along his chest, abdomen and back from Eddy Jay's touch, (he'd been hard pressed to come up with an explanation for those but decided to take the strange option declaring their attackers had been armed with some kind of tank that had burning cold stuff in it) he let the medical folks fill in the blanks.

_One things' for sure, whether it's possible or not, I'm pretty sure that's what happened… _he thought and looked over at Sam, _Why you Sam? Besides being the psychic wonder that you can be… why you? Is that the only reason? I'll say this much, that son of a bitch shows up here I'm gonna pump it so full of… whatever's in these things that there's no way they won't work! Don't you worry Sam, I won't make the same mistake again, I'm not putting you at risk for my own…stuff…_his raw fingers slid over the cold steel of the gun on the bed beside him and he nodded. Nothing was going to get past him.

--

Please… I know I'm probably driving you all crazy but it's important…

Sorry it's another slow one but at least it's short… shrug can't help myself.

need to know… wha ch'all think?

Thanks

sifi


	12. Chapter 12

Reprisals chpt 12

By lunchtime the following day the Winchester boys were back at the motel, as usual, Against Medical Advice, and trying to find any information they could about what they were coming to believe with increasing certainty had happened down in the pit.

Sam poured over pages they printed from ancient texts, as well as some of the earliest translations of some of the Latin of the ritual. They were both well aware that translation through the ages was kind of a cosmic linguistic game of telephone… _Oh if only we were up against something as simple as Mordechai Murdoch right now…_ He shook his head and pressed his fingertips into his temples, he had a series of numbers running through his head and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what they were for. _Well they can't be coordinates… that much is for sure… where the hell did I hear them? _he wondered briefly and shoved them back into his brain for later pondering.

Dean was on the computer continuing with a general search, and despite things being currently quiet, neither man could truly bring himself to believe, having gotten what it wanted, that Eddy Jay would simply leave them alone now. Dean rubbed his eyes, he felt like they'd become part of the computer screen in the last seven and a half hours he'd been sitting there.

_Sam's right, it got our scent in Missouri and if it really found a way to… wow… then it's just biding its time. It was smart before, and something that smart and that cruel doesn't soften and dumb down when it gets what it wants…_he lifted his eyes and looked at Sam across the table, his head in his hand, fingers fisted in his hair. _We need a vacation… after this…I'll buy him a plane ticket to New York, he can go see Sarah while I take care of Aaron, make sure he really hasn't been… please don't let me be too late… don't let this thing have found a way to resurrect him too…cause if it has… I got a feeling Night of the Living Dead is gonna happen in a way no one ever thought possible…Wonder if Bobby's having any luck finding something that can help… man Dad would be pissed! I can't believe how I frakked this up… look at him…he shouldn't have to go through this, he didn't ask for it…he doesn't want it...but God help me I think he's being drawn in, he sees the good we do… except when we lose someone like Carol._ He nodded frowning.

They'd done a search when they got back to the Motel and found that she'd indeed been murdered, in exactly the same way Dean had seen and felt it.

"Hey Sam… why don't you take a break huh? Cop a few hours while I'm still fresh enough to cover us?" he suggested his eyes flicking to the clock as Sam checked his watch.

"Dean we're salted to the teeth, you need rest too… " Sam admitted straightening and pushing himself out of the chair very carefully.

_Yep, still hurtin'…this can't go on…_ an idea tumbled across his mind. They'd fortified the room, nothing was getting in here and both of them knew it. They also knew that according to all they'd been through since last year that only one entity that they knew of might even be capable of breeching their defenses, but since they hadn't seen hide nor hair of it, and dad was off chasing the signs again, it was a pretty safe bet nothing else was going to get in.

_Well… yeah, he'd be as safe as possible…but why would I do that? What could I possibly hope to learn? What its plans are? Where it went? Why it's waiting? I think I need to go back again…_inside, something groaned while something else nodded somberly, _Yes Dean, yes you really should.._. He shook his head at the thought, _There's so much at stake here, I've screwed this up so bad from the get-go, but Sam would be the one left here to fend for himself_.

"Hey Sam?" he started, "You don't think there's anything… you know… back there… that could kinda clue us in on where he's going or what he's gonna do… do you?"

Sam's jaw dropped, he couldn't believe his ears, "Are… are you actually suggesting we go back there… again? Cause Dean I told you, I searched that house, it's basically an empty husk."

"Wa…well I wasn't really thinking WE…"

"What! Dean are you _crazy_!" Sam asked feeling anger start to boil in his guts. It wasn't often that Dean actually made him as angry as their dad could, but sometimes, just sometimes…

Instead of flopping into bed like he wanted to he returned to the table and towered over his sitting brother, "No… neither of us is going back there… now if you want to do something that might draw this thing out maybe we should go find that other guy's grave and get to work on salting and burning him…'cause that… that's a good idea too," he suggested and turned back to the bed where he rolled himself gently down and stuffed the pillow under his head.

Dean felt his blood puddle in his feet and he swallowed hard watching Sam situate himself, "Uhm other guy?" he asked.

"I don't know… that Aaron guy you were muttering about… who is he anyway?" Sam asked off handed, sleep sneaking quickly up on him so that he didn't notice Dean's sudden lack of color, or that he'd just broken out into a very waxy, very copious sweat.

Dean cleared his throat and forced himself to swallow some of his coffee, "Just another serial killer…"

Sam yawned nodding faintly, "Yeah, you got a morbid fascination alright…" but before Dean could think of formulating any kind of response Sammy was out, his breathing even and deep and comforting.

Dean slowly let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, hissing through his teeth a bit and scrubbed his face with his bandaged hands, _God he knows... he doesn't know anything… he knows something! Did I say… well yeah, he said I was muttering the name… okay, so real simple, he's a serial killer, once again… of children… this case reminded me of that case cause it was a big story in 92, just like Gacy was in the 70's in Illinois… wonder if we should burn him too… I think he was electrocuted… hmmm have to check on that…Yeah, I can play this off… just need to keep my cool, and not sleep till its over cause I don't think I can take anymore of those nightmares…_he joked with himself, his hand clasping the pendant he wore. He remembered his dad saying it would keep away the nightmares, the really bad ones that would wake him up screaming as a kid right after Mary's murder. He also remembered John telling him it wouldn't take away all of them. _Help me out here dude._ He willed and thought for an instant that maybe he should just go ahead and confide in Sam.

He acknowledged that a part of him wanted to share the burden, hadn't he almost spilled the beans once already during this case? _Yeah, the problem with something like this is that you get so used to keeping it, so used to the weight of it that the idea of letting it go, of shrugging it off… well it's worse than showing up naked in class…_he shook his head, _Yeah, oh by the way Sammy back in 92, you know that summer you and dad almost died… I was a little sick myself and sorta got picked up by a freakin' child molester, but it's okay I killed him at the ripe old age of 13…yeah that'd go over like a lead… Zepplin … heh… nah, knowing Francis he'd sign me up for some post traumatic stress counseling or teenage killers anonymous or something…nah, not worth it. _

But at least his breathing had returned to normal and he'd realized he could tell his little brother about Aaron Mitchell Beyers, if he asked, without really lying, so long as he stuck to the facts about who he was, and so long as Sam didn't ask him anything about anything else. _I suck at lying… I hate it and I suck at it…Well too bad, if you have to, you have to. Just play it down and hope he accepts the basic facts, I mean I'm not lying about those… _

--

By the time the sun winked over the Eastern horizon and Sam began to show signs of stretching out the accordion kinks he put into himself each night Dean was freshly showered, and dressed, the coffee was made and he was half packed, sitting at the table and organizing their paperwork. As he sat through the night reading his book for a time, when the files became to painful to go through, he realized Sam was right. He'd been worried enough about the resurrection of Aaron Beyers' prematurely, oh yeah, and violently murdered self to know instinctively that salting and burning the bastard was a good idea. He didn't know if Eddy Jay had picked it out of his head, or scratched away the mildew that had hidden the encounter for fourteen years, but if he had… thing was neither of them really knew if spirits, no matter how similar, no matter how evil, could interact.

_Point is, he's got a body that can't be killed by consecrated iron rounds, that it's dead doesn't matter much now does it? It's not stopping him. I wonder if he's bound by the same constraints as we poor mortals? Even those demons we pulled out of Shelia needed to be bound by a set of rules before they could be killed, least that's what Sam was saying last night… Dad's got the Colt and a box of Joe Redbird's bullets but he sure as hell hasn't let us know if he's had a chance to test them out either…who the hell am I kidding? If he's gonna try and raise Aaron there's no one on Earth to blame but me. Once more Dean… way to frakk things up! Maybe I'm getting too old for this game… maybe I just can't cut it anymore… either way, I got no choice, I need to fix this once and for all. _

--

Sam glanced at Dean again and turned back. For the last hundred miles he couldn't find a comfortable position. He felt like one giant bruise and the 800 mgs of over the counter pain relief were barely allowing him to take a full breath. He wondered if he'd trade his injuries for Dean's. Sure his hands were wrapped to the base of the fingers and that puncture in his forearm couldn't be fun, but at least he could yawn if he wanted to! _Oh damnit! I had to think it! _he cursed and slowly drew in the deepest breath he could hoping it would serve instead of that yawn he really wanted.

"Quit it!" Dean yawned without even having glanced sideways.

"Oh man!" Sam couldn't stop himself, filled his lungs, "…ow…"

"We got half the continent to go Sam, why don't you just close your eyes and rest," he suggested.

Sam smirked, "Yeah and leave you in your own head? Uh uh, and since we're on the subject of your head… what's goin' on in there Dean? Huh? You haven't been right since we started this case… I mean is it something like what happened when dad left you to face the Shtriga or something?" he asked, not having intended to at all.

He could see Dean struggling with something, maybe trying to find some smart ass comment to toss out to him then with a blink give up the quest.

"Sam, these were…horrible… cruel… people in life… we don't usually get a chance to stop this kind of evil… the kind that could happen on a grand scale if Eddy really managed to make that transition… this is an opportunity like we've never had before y'know?"

"I know that…" Sam nodded and decided that while the issue was open, he was going to press it a little, "… but this… your whole… thing, the bad dreams, the waking in the middle of the night, the tossing and turning… I mean Dean come on! When you're out you're like the Sleeping Giant… unless there's a noise or something but… aren't you the one who tells me you can't bring it home with you?"

Dean looked at Sam, daring to take his eyes off the road to gauge just how far his little brother was willing to push this right now before responding.

_Far enough for now,_ he sighed internally, "Yeah, well sometimes when something is big enough I guess you don't have a choice about taking it home or not…" he tried.

He felt Sam take a breath and knew some kind of something was about to come out of his mouth. Those 'tells' were the reason Sam always lost to Dean when they played poker.

"Hey, don't forget, I was down there too… I heard it…" he swallowed hard and grimaced as the sound replayed in his head, as long as he lived he'd never want to hear that again, "…make you scream."

"That's what I do best…" came a leering purr into Sam's ear from the back seat as a cold gray arm wrapped around his throat, pinning him with crushing force against the seat as the face of Eddy Jay leered sidelong at Dean. He nibbled Sam's ear then stroked it with his tongue while Dean fought for control of the car with one hand and dug into his jacket with the other, his face almost as gray as Eddy's.

Sam reached back with his good left hand and entwined it into the back of Eddy's shirt so as soon as Dean got control of the car he could take the shot. The fingers of his right hand were trying to pry Eddy's arm off his throat so he could get a breath.

Eddy's hand covered Sam's ear conspiratorially while he looked at Dean sneering, "You know Dean… that was a really good idea you had… I'm gonna go dig up that old friend … I'll have to introduce you to him... soon…" he managed to keep Sam still with inhuman strength and leaned over pressing its mouth to Dean's ear, "Oh yeah… you've already met…" he kissed the side of his head and grinned lasciviously continuing to taunt him, "… your brother is sooooo sweet… I can't keep him all to myself… that would be wrong…"

Dean got Metallicar to the shoulder of the road and twisted in the seat firing as soon as the first bullet would touch the unwanted passenger. Before he could squeeze the trigger Dean met its eyes and froze, his suspicions were confirmed as they first became solid black, then returned to their undead milky gray before the entity that Eddy Jay's spirit had become burst into countless fragments of living dark dust and disappeared from the car as three quick rounds first shattered Metallicar's rear passenger window and the other two slugs sailed out over a patch of prairie.

"Sam?" Dean gasped breathlessly, the gun still in his right hand he grasped Sam's chin and turned his head. "You alright?"

Sam coughed and nodded, rubbing bruised-banana colored throat, "I am so sick of these sons of bitches and their obsession with my throat…" he shook his head meeting Dean's eyes, confirming that he was okay by that particular brand of contact.

"I saw it Sam, I saw its eyes change… we made him a demon…" Dean breathed hard feeling his stomach turn and his heart pound with fury for their mistake.

--

Going to start 13

Please…

Thanks…

sifi


	13. Chapter 13

Reprisals chpt 13

In Lakeview Oregon Dean drove past the vacant lot that was the motel they'd been staying at in 1992, the one where his father had given him just enough whiskey for the first time to make him pass out. The one he'd taken him from and driven a hundred and fifty miles away from just so he could try and camouflage his eldest son in one of the last uncorrupted vortices in the area. The one Dean was heading back to when he ran afoul of Momma Psycho Freak, as he'd never been able to stop thinking of Aaron Beyers. His palms slicked beneath the gauze and he was grateful for the dirty, used to be white, wrapping, otherwise he might've lost his grip on the steering wheel.

Another mile down the road he pulled in and checked them into a room with a blend of nautical and forest motif. He brought their bags in and tossed them each on their respective beds, Sam's on the left and his on the right while Sam got busy salting the two windows and making a half circle by the door.

Dean set up the laptop and printer on the table and sat down with the local phone book getting the locations of area cemeteries and directions to them while Sam sat on the bed and made a phone call.

"… okay, but if you hear from him let him know okay? It's really important if he's used them yet …" Sam nodded sipping from his water bottle and wincing. "… yeah the number's still the same if you find out anything… Thanks Shep,"

"He's gonna try and get hold of dad and see if it's ever happened before?" Dean asked as he printed the directions to all three cemeteries in town and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Yep… nothing to do but wait… we should get something to eat and rest till nightfall," Sam suggested, "…and you should let me re-bandage your hands man, you're gonna get infected."

"Yeah… wound check… alright…" Dean nodded easily. Sam could see his mind was long and far away and something inside of him twitched, horribly unsatisfied with the results of their previous conversation.

About twenty minutes later, after washing, salving and re-wrapping the raw meat Dean was calling hands Sam looked closely at one of his brothers' palms and was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of tendon white beneath some of the exposed muscle. His mind went back to Richardson and the prank fest they'd wound up starting there. He remembered the look on Dean's face as he realized the beer bottle had been glued to his hand and the glimmer of appreciation for the extent of the joke. Dean always could appreciate a good prank, even if it was on him. Sam wondered how long it was going to be before he shook off this case and dusted off his sense of humor again.

_All the more reason to handle this quickly and thoroughly, then he'll be alright and maybe some of that weight'll come out of his eyes. _

"Dean?" he started and felt a 'clang' inside as their eyes met. _Wow, shields are at maximum!_

"Not now Sam," Dean shook his head. He'd felt it coming. All his senses were honed to razor sharpness as the hour of battle ticked steadily closer. His outer stillness belied the snarling creature inside that would not rest, nor let him, until this demon they'd created was done and could bring no more harm to the world. There would be time later for the wallowing in doubt and guilt. The warrior inside knew this just as surely as he knew that one day even the most finely crafted shield would shatter. To win the battle, to die if need be for the sake of the preservation of light, for the saving of those few innocents who remained was all that mattered, anything else was icing.

"…_for each time he falls, he shall rise again… and Woe to the wicked…"_ he thought nodding to himself and feeling his armor buckling snugly against his body. _"I shall impersonate a man… come… enter into my imagination and see him…"_ he heard ring out in his head and cracked the tiniest of smiles, another guilty pleasure no one knew about. He was running out of them but that was okay, if anyone could appreciate some of his down-time pass-times, it was Professor Peabody over there.

"Okay…" Sam acknowledged knotting the end of the gauze around his wrists. He knew that look on his brothers' face. He knew he was psyching himself up in a way he only did when they were up against something big, something more dangerous than the average Woman In White or Mordechai Murdoch. This was almost a Salvation level psych, course, they were up against a demon they'd helped create so….

Dean worked in silence, removing the dressings from Sam's left side with the utmost care, each wiry black knot in his flesh serving to hone his focus as he washed them with peroxide, reapplied the triple antibiotic ointment and re-bandaged them. His eyes counted 43 distinct and identifiable chain link images that had been crushed into his skin, deeper than the bruises left by the broken ribs themselves, then slid around to his brothers back, the impossible number of cuts he'd obtained from the crystal. It seemed so far away, that evening Dean had cared for him before they'd settled in to watch MST3K and get satisfied on pizza and beer, Dean nipping from his whiskey once in a while as the night wore on.

He noticed that Sam's back, while still home to several dozen deeper cuts had managed to heal quite nicely, and the deeper marks that remained were well on their way to healing. _Thank God for favors._ He smiled deciding his back didn't need any tending at the moment and looked next at his left shoulder where the then Ghost of Eddy Jay had bitten him, leaving a "Red Dragon" worthy dental impression of blistering behind. He wiped the area, applied the ointment and a bandage and moved on to the last place he was aware of. A fist sized burn in the small of Sam's back that could've been twin to any of the blister holes on his own torso. _Yeah, gotta get those covered before we go,_ he reminded himself and repeated the ritual.

"You can get the one in front," he admonished handing over the more benign tools of their particular trade and going into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself and took off his shirt.

Dean sighed, the gauze on his chest had leaked through and his waistband was bloody again. _Damnit! How long are these freakin' things going to last!_ but he knew three days given the depth of them was not unheard of. Gingerly he began to clean them. The stripes around and up his abdomen, and the palm print on his chest were the easiest despite the blue-flame burning feeling. The one in the small of his back that disappeared just under the jean line wasn't so hard either, it was the strip up his spine that was hard to get at.

He had one hand over and behind him, squeezing cool water down the line while the other held a towel at the base of the rend. _That's all I need is a pair of wet jeans and Sammy'll think I peed myself 'er something…_he was trying to joke with himself, to start the arduous climb out of the dark place his mind was hiding but it wasn't working.

Sam knocked once and entered carrying the first aid supplies in his good arm. He stopped short and sucked wind as he caught sight of the extent of Dean's wounds.

"Dean…" he breathed shocked setting the stuff down on the counter.

"Here get that one in the middle would ja?" he asked handing the wash cloth to Sam and turning his back on him for the moment, in several ways.

"And you were the one lecturing me about not telling _you_ if _I_ was hurt! Nice, hypocrite! I don't get you Dean! You know what we're going up against tonight!" Sam's clear tenor tolled in his ears.

"It's not like I'm letting them fester Sam…"

"Not the point and you know it…" Sam countered. He was right and they both knew it so Dean offered no argument. There wasn't one he _could_ offer.

Willing for the moment to let it go, knowing they both needed their focus Sam changed the subject to something more banal, "So I've got this phone number running around my head, 987-6112, does that mean anything to you?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, it sounded familiar, he shrugged, "Maybe it's a girls' number… hey Sammy gets a phone number," he smiled then added teasingly, "Don't worry I won't tell Sarah…" Dean looked over his shoulder with a grin that should've been patented but Sam was being serious. _Figures…professor broody over here… yeah and I'm such a ray of sunshine right now… _"No man, seriously, it doesn't mean anything to me."

"…Least far as I can figure it's a phone number, nine eight seven, sixty one twelve…" he reiterated and startled when Dean ducked away from him, wheeled around and shook his head.

"I don't recognize it," he voice faltered and Sam knew he was lying but was stunned momentarily by the shock he'd seen cross Dean's face before it slid behind his wall.

"Yes you do…" curious, Sam nodded "Who is it?"

"I'm telling you Sam…"

"You're _lying_ to me Dean, you don't do it often and I'm pretty good at knowing…" he stopped short and cocked his head to the side, a little voice trying to be heard as Dean whipped his t-shirt off the counter and strode from the bathroom while sliding it over his head, his body oblivious to the irritation of the soft cotton on the wounds. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and went to the door careful not to disrupt the semi circle of salt that was their protection, "I'll be back before dark, you stay in here or so help me God Sam…" he threatened and left without waiting for a response.

In seconds Sam could hear Metallicar's twin exhaust chopping out onto the road. Sam sat down at the table and accessed the internet while he made a few phone calls.

--

_Please don't let him be drunk, don't let him have gotten into a fight, we have to finish this…_Sam thought watching the Impala pull smoothly up to the motel room door. Dean saw him in the window and nodded. Sam grabbed his jacket, the directions to the right cemetery, and the journal then stepped carefully over the salt making sure the door was locked behind him.

"You got your head clear?" he asked sliding into the passenger seat.

"Yep," Dean nodded and tossed a bag to him, "Italian combo sub Sammy, fuel for the fire. You ready to go kick some demon ass?" he asked, as if the little outburst this afternoon hadn't happened at all.

"Ready as I can get…" he nodded unwrapping the sub and biting hard into it, _if he wants to play I can do that too. He'll tell me what happened when he's ready._ "So I did some research and found out our boy's buried at St. Pascals…" he started around a mouth full of thick Italian bread and huge slabs of meat.

"I know… I found his grave this afternoon…" Dean said.

"Oh… alright then," Sam nodded and ripped another chunk out of the sandwich.

"Look Sam, I'm sorry about this afternoon…" Dean sighed, "… but you were right, this case has got me a little fragged…"

"Y'know I did notice that…" Sam smirked as they pulled into the cemetery's access road. "Look, it's okay…everyone's got something that sets 'em off… your trigger happens to be obscure numeric sequences mixed with demonic serial child killers… it's alright," he nodded grinning hugely now, glad the time was finally here.

"Yeah," Dean nodded cocking that half grin that gave Sam hope that his big brother would be back to normal when this was over. "You sure you're up to digging tonight?" he asked.

Sam nodded and held up the second half of the sandwich, "Fuel for the fire… speaking of which…?"

"We are loaded for bear…" Dean confirmed pulling to a stop and pointing to the right, "See that monument?"

"The obelisk?" Sam asked.

"Yep, two up and three over… let's go," he cut the ignition and slid from the front seat meeting Sam at the trunk.

--

About three feet into the hole Dean kicked Sam out and told him to stand guard with his senses wide open, he didn't need all his reserves spent.

Sam had spent the best part of last night and this afternoon not just researching everything he could find out Aaron Mitchell Beyers, which had been quite informative in its own right, but also engaged in re-translating a surprisingly large quantity of the ritual they'd used during the phantom traveler incident, tailoring it to serve their far more precise needs.

"Y'know it's too bad we can't just do some kind of spell to summon 'em here like they do on t.v," Sam mused.

"Yeah, well, hate to break it to you Sammy, but you're not Rose McGowan, and I sure as hell ain't Alyssa Milano… which I guess is a good thing after all… I mean, we've done enough to…" he joked breathlessly.

"Don't remind me… Please don't remind me…" Sam shook his head.

"Hey it wasn't all bad… they let us pick up girls… and, it was kind of an interesting experience…" Dean admitted shrugging.

Sam grinned shaking his head, sometimes he was truly amazed by his brother.

Once Dean hit wood and cracked open the casket, ensuring that the remains of Aaron Beyers were still in there, their senses began to sing with tension and the breezy night took on an eerie quality they were frighteningly accustomed to.

"Keep your… everything open Sam…" Dean urged seriously as he poured another 50 pound bag of salt over the corpse.

"Isn't that a little… much?" Sam asked taking the empty bag and handing Dean the five gallon can of gas.

"Not with these guys…" Dean shook his head and left no corner of the grave un-sodden.

"…anything?" he asked standing at the foot of the grave, ready to strike the matches in his hand and wondering if he'd misinterpreted Eddy Jay's challenge, wondering if he was too late already, wondering if this was going to do any good or just waste some of their resources.

"Nope," Sam shook his head.

Dean shook his head, took a deep breath and struck the matches. He watched the fire catch through the sulfur and felt a hand shove him hard between the shoulder blades.

"Dean!" Sam called as his brother toppled into the six foot hole, _The six foot deep, gasoline soaked hole while holding lighted matches!_ "Dean!" he called again and saw yellow glow for a second before the hole went dark and he felt himself thrown with incredible power several headstones away, barely missing the obelisk as he cruised by, landed with a sickening squashing feeling and felt himself struggle to retain consciousness.

His eyes fixed on something at the foot of the grave, something that wasn't really making too much sense. He could see a huge platinum blond pile of hair, distinctly feminine atop a bony plank-board figure. He shook his head and felt his eyes grow wide as the apparition with its lower face painted orange smiled, waved at him and stepped into the hole. _Got something…_ he groaned inside his head. _That wasn't Eddy Jay… musta been Aaron…but where's Eddy? I can't start without knowing he's here..._ he thought pushing himself onto all fours as quickly as his body would allow.

Part of Aaron Beyers' grave had been obscured from his sight by a large headstone but when he finally managed, really just a moment later, to rise to his feet he saw the crouching figure he'd helped to create grinning and laughing, looking down into the hole and occasionally plowing armloads of dirt back into the Earth.

_Come on Dean… be okay… be conscious… be fighting…Whatever went down that summer… you gotta fight it, you can't let this son of a bitch beat you! _he willed his brother whatever strength he might need and crept toward the open grave, hoping to find a way to help Dean. His hand wrapped around the grip of his gun but his vision wasn't cooperating, the dark, his pain and maybe even a few new injuries were conspiring against him and he wasn't sure he could make the shot just yet. Besides he wanted to be performing the ritual when he shot the bastard, who was really getting into the idea of burying Dean alive now and methodically plowing that dirt back down.

Eddy Jay stopped plowing dirt into the hole and looked down, apparently someone, maybe Aaron, maybe Dean had said something. _Well it wasn't Dean…_Sam thought and cocked the gun, sliding it out of his pocket just in time to hear a terrible scream that set his heart racing just before a shaft of fire erupted from somewhere below, and after a second ground vibrating 'whump' the grave began to burn. _DEAN!_ he wanted to scream and run forward, but no matter what happened in that hole he'd finish this for his brother. No one was going to ever hurt his brother again! Not without some serious payback! He flicked his eyes at some motion and watched Eddy Jay stand up. There was no time to waste. He began to chant the ancient Latin ritual, rose to his full height and leveled the gun at the demon's head. He aimed for the one in the center first, then the other two, watching a hole appear into its forehead. He looked curiously as the same kind of demon killing lightning cascaded through the new and now dying demon and instantly remembered watching the vampire Luther die in exactly the same manner.

_Guess the bullets work,_ he thought as the thing that had been Edward Jacob Simons fell to its knees and toppled into the grave. _Must be getting crowded in there…_ he heard Dean's voice in the back of his head and ran forward, still chanting the new ritual just to be on the safe side while he faced whatever it was he might see down there.

--

Dean felt himself falling and put his forearms down feeling the salt lessen his impact. He heard Sam holler for him but the gasoline soaked grave was turning yellow. He slid his jacket partly off the side he wasn't laying on and smothered the flames quickly unable to hear Sam call to him the second time just before he looked up at the foot of the grave, still on his side and saw the One and Only Momma Psycho Freak step into the hole with him.

He landed straddling Dean's legs and Dean kicked, not really thinking it was going to work but having to try anyway. The unleashed spirit of the man he'd killed fourteen years ago knelt down and he felt the pressure on his legs as the hands pressed his shoulders back with inhuman or demon imbued strength, either way, no matter what he grabbed at or tried to hit, it was faster and stronger than he was.

"Hello baby…" he cooed and licked his lips before trying to capture Dean's with them. Dean whipped his head to the side and contracted every muscle he had trying to throw this thing off of him. "I missed you so much… you know none of my other kids ever got the chance to grow up… I'm so glad it's you that brought me back…" he said stroking the jawbone of the side of Dean's exposed neck.

Dean felt the cold hand press his head to the side, keeping him pinned to the rock salt as he leaned forward breathing his putrescence into his face before the sickening moist flaccid mouth came to rest on his neck, those hideous yellow and brown teeth touching his skin while the clammy hands slid under his shirt and over his chest. Dean gritted his teeth and kept himself still while his left hand balled into a fist, and his right stealthily slid into the half mashed box of matches curling two of them between his fingers and orienting them properly. He felt something changing, Momma Psycho Freak was getting solid on him. He could feel the vibration of his moan as he tasted first his ear then the tender spot behind. _Eewww! I'm gonna hafta take a bath in bleach! Just another second … come on you sick freak… go to town… get as solid as you can you son of a bitch!_ he silently urged and stilled the sigh of relief when he felt the bastard's chest press against his.

"Gotcha!" he sneered striking the sulfur tip of the matches with his thumb nail while his left hand came up with every ounce of force he could muster and slammed through the almost fully realized body of Aaron Mitchell Beyers'. Gasoline soaked salt met flaming matches somewhere near the center of his torso and he sat up, still pinning Dean down by sitting on his hips for a moment before his chest began to glow as the purifying fire ate him with acidic speed and he burst into a column of flame.

Dean squirmed kicking and bucking and shoving until he was free of the restraining weight. He rolled as far away as he could and curled into a ball until the rest of the fumes ruptured into the cleansing fire the Winchester boys knew so well.

_Okay gotta go!_ he thought and bent through the flames catapulting himself as high as he could, his feet and hands locking into the Earth in sync as he clawed his way out of the hole.

He felt a hand grasp his and haul him out onto the cool grass where he lay while Sam's breathless voice chanted until the ritual was complete, and he let himself lay down next to Dean until all trace of both the corpse and the demon were gone.

--

In his dreams Dean lay on his back, restful until his eyes opened for some reason and he looked onto his marred chest and saw it streaked with unmistakable orange. He felt himself startle as his hands reached up and beat down ripping the newly forming skin over his burns while he tried to scrub the orange colored lipstick away.

His eyes popped wide just as Sam got up from his comfy little oasis where the contrivances of reality TV were almost entertaining. He pressed end on his phone and set it on the nightstand. In fact he was just getting up to wake Dean from his nightmare.

Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand and groaned. 9_:20? That's it? Okay, I can stay up again…_

"That's three in twenty four hours. You have to find a way to get past this Dean… despite what you might think, it might take me a while to put two and two together but I can do it. Aaron Beyers was found dead in his home in early August of 1992, his septum had been slammed into his brain and his blood supply had been cut off by his own jawbone. I don't know how you ran across him, I don't know what happened and I'm guessing I probably never will… and believe it or not I can live with that," he watched Dean's expression begin a subtle shift, "You're my brother, and I hope you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you…" a knock sounded on the door and Sam rose looking down into his big brothers' dumbfounded expression, "I love you Dean but I know you're not ready to talk to me…" he grabbed his jacket and slid it on, "I'll be back in the morning so don't wait up," he said and opened the door.

"Hey Sam…"

"Hey Laura…thanks for coming," Sam smiled and hugged the woman hard before stepping out into the night, "See you in the morning."

She nodded and locked the door behind him, then smiled that warm open smile that tore down Dean's defenses. No judgments, no reprisals, just the woman who loved him and nothing more. She moved to the side of the bed and sat down.

--

From outside the room Sam couldn't stop himself from looking through the crack in the curtains. Dean needed something he wasn't going to accept from his brother so he'd called the only person he could think of that would die for him and refuse any efforts if he ever tried to do the same.

He watched her sit, saw their eyes meet and watched for a few short seconds as the man who'd always presented himself as 'too slick for stuff to stick to,' hitched a breath, let a sob tear out of his throat and dove into her unconditional love.

End.

Hope you enjoyed the ride.

sifi


End file.
